


Let Your Waves Crash Down on Me

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Loads of other characters, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Summer AU, University AU, beach au, mild drug use, ziam, ziam smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This summer. This beach. This wave-ridden town Zayn let Niall drag him to for the summer after their first year of Uni is wearing thin against his skin. It's all fading away: Niall's despise for one Louis Tomlinson, the constant hookups, the faces he won't remember, the days under the sun and the nights drunken beneath the stars. The taste of a summer crush on some silly lifeguard. He's want it all to go away, especially this lingering feeling of not wanting to watch Liam burn out like the orangey sun.</p><p>One last party before the summer dies is all he needs. Well, that and Liam's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Waves Crash Down on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Ocean Avenue" by Yellowcard.
> 
> I just wanted to write a fic about an end of summer party that turned into this rather large piece. It was really fun to write and I really hope people like it. I drew my inspiration from most of my favorite summer songs and the freeness of the music from the 80s and 90s that always makes me smile.
> 
> I don't know much about beaches in England or the towns nearby so forgive me for making most of this up. It's fiction, right? And I know there's quite a bit of American stuff written into this too but maybe you can overlook it?
> 
>  **Side note:** Tons of swearing in this one. Some recreational drug use. Some smut too. All in the name of fun, yeah?

Zayn breathes it all in – this world, this life, this scene, these last few days of summer.

The sun hits high in the sky like an orange ball of fire, singeing the blue canvas in gold and soft flaxen.  The waves curl across the ocean, toss before they turn, skating toward the sand like a call for home.  The heat is the right kind of summer bliss, the blaze striking the skin at all of the wrong points until it’s unbearable but pleasantly beautiful.  The birds call across the heavens as they chase stray pieces of the wind to glide on.  The sky – a gospel choir of blues, swirled white clouds – seems endless over the blanket the ocean provides.  It’s a never-ending slide of deep blue, the scent heady with salt, seaweed, something sharp like metal that sparks against his senses.  He can taste it on his tongue – the water, the heat, the beauty – and it’s the only thing drawing a smile upon his pink lips.

This town is weak with the last days of summer.  Most of the Uni kids have already made their decent back home, some to Universities far off across England while others stick close to the shore life for a few more days of abandoned reverie.  They dance on an empty hope that this’ll last forever – he knows it won’t.  He never expected it to, but he basks in it just as long as he can.  Just a few more days before he’s off in that rusty old car they drove in, head to the glass window while watching all of this fade away.

He sucks in a tight inhale, holding it.  He blinks at the sun blinding him, dragging his fingers through his damp, soft hair.  It’s not wet from the water – he avoids every inch of that ocean with determined will – but from the sweat, the swell of the heat that feels aching just before noon but cools off later on in the evening.  He tangles his fingers around the strands of dark hair, the few strips of a faded blonde dye job that he’s sure he royally fucked up in that first week, biting down on his lower lip.  It’s loose, product-free, probably wrecked from the beach air and endless days chasing the sun for senseless dreams he knows will never come true.  He feels the breeze kick up, reaching high and wide across his shoulders with its cool touch, and he lets his eyes drift shut for a moment to catalogue all of this.

Zayn listens to the laughs, the shrieks from the water where children are dancing on the infantile waves that kick up at their feet.  Their parents are probably a few feet away, sipping cherry Cokes and waxing ignorantly about being overworked, the height of the sun, and what time they’ll gather to play poker while chugging down Long Islands.  It all seems so irrelevant – the way the rich pretend to know the hardships Zayn’s seen his parents go through – but he humors all of their chats because, honestly, he’s a bit envious of them.  And their children.

He blinks his eyes open, his tongue rolling over his lips while watching a collection of Uni students engaging in a sloppy game of volleyball.  He doesn’t know them all, maybe a few – that scruffy guy Ben, who usually has a camera attached to him, Jade, who’s all silky dark hair with strands of blue, Nick, who seems quite attached to Ben for reasons Zayn refuses to invest in, Aiden and Max, with their stupid laughs and foolish attempts at one-upping each other, and Leigh-Anne, wild curls and fickle interest in it all – but he pretends they matter for a moment.

“Your serve is shit Jade,” Max calls out, high-fiving Aiden with a grin as she tosses the ball high in the air.

“Yeah, well so is your _dick_ according to Jes,” Jade sneers back, tapping the ball just enough for it to sink over the net.  It plops against the ground, Nick too busy gaping at Max to bother tapping it back across the net.

“Fuck off,” Max scoffs, kicking up a heap of sand.

Jade grins, victorious in more than a few ways.

“Must we chat about Max and his inability to keep an erection while shitfaced,” Leigh-Anne hums, scooping up the ball.  She serves it back to Jade, smirking as Max flips her off.

Jade shrugs, tucking a few strands of that blue-black hair behind her ear before setting Ben up, cheering when he spikes it over.

“We could talk about his lack of cock sucking skills according to Aiden,” Jade offers, biting back a shriek of laughter when Aiden trips on a mound of sand after her words kick up in the dead breeze.

Max is glaring at Aiden, kicking sand in his face as he passes, reaching for the ball.  “Bunch of fucking twats and tossers, you lot.”

Aiden lays defeated for a beat, spitting sand out of his mouth while trying to sputter up some sort of explanation.  Max merely kicks more grains of sand in his face, slamming the ball against Aiden’s back.

Zayn rolls his eyes expectantly.  Max is an utter dick and everyone knows it.  He kinda hates Max, he’ll admit.  No, wait, he _does_ hate Max except he always has the best alcohol stashed at his beach house, the one his parents own that he’s slumming at with Nathan, Tom, and Jay in tow.  And he always lets Zayn bum a few cigarettes when Zayn’s running low, far too lazy to walk into town for a new pack.

But still, Zayn thinks he wants to punch the guy in the face for being a complete prick.  A douchebag.  A fucking loser.  A total… yeah, Zayn _definitely_ hates Max.

Cher’s laying on her stomach with a colorful towel beneath her, her top undone with the sun beating down across her slick back.  Her brown hair is swept over one shoulder, her head bobbing to whatever music is blasting through her ear buds – _I don’t have digital; I don’t have diddly squat. It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got_ – with her feet kicking freely back and forth in the air.  Zayn grins at her, teeth biting at his lip as she smirks sideways.  She’s sipping on one of those frozen drinks – probably mixed with the gin from that small flask she keeps in her oversized beach bag – with a pair of big-framed sunglasses over her eyes.

Zayn’s always liked her.  She’s all sass and hip hop with her chunky earrings at night, ripped leggings, and spiked heels.  She’s two seconds from not giving a shit at any given moment and she smells like spicy perfume and apricots.  She swears like a professional and, if you ever bothered to ask, she doesn’t like you.  She doesn’t like _anyone_ , except maybe Zayn, a few others that she could count on one hand like Eleanor and Zayn’s best mate, Niall.  She’s reminds him of his younger sister Waliyha, defiant in every way.

There’s a pickup game of footie going on to his left, narrowed hazel eyes watching as a few of the lads try to out-do each other with trick shots and slick movements that look incredibly clumsy in the dense sand.  There’s empty beer bottles set up as mock goal posts, hoots and cheers from the sidelines from a few of the other beach-goers.  The sun dances over them – _I’m gonna soak up sun. I’m gonna tell everyone to lighten up_ – with a flair of light reflected off the sweat on their skin.  Zayn knows a few of them from a couple of parties he’s crashed, a selection of the others from back home – well, his University home – but none of them really stand out, except for Niall.

Zayn digs his toes into the sand, tipping his head back to catch a few more strokes of the sun.  He swallows, mouth feeling dry, and waits for the halo of heat to soak his skin through.  He dusts at his rolled up chinos, patting his pockets for his pack of smokes.  He lifts them from his back pocket, the box crushed but he doesn’t care because the three cigarettes he has left survive the pressure.  His fingers run along the faint stubble on his cheeks, down over his jaw as he sticks a lone cigarette behind his ear, letting it rest there until he’s ready to breathe out this feeling.

It’s a high – the way summer seems to stick to your skin until you’re sick.  Parts of him prefers the isolation of his University hall, his room with that stiff bed, cool and wrinkled sheets, lumpy pillows.  He prefers the drifting thoughts that pass through him while reading a good book – something hardcover because paperbacks are for fucking pussies and cheap, desperate romance novels.  But still, there’s something about spending the past two months hours away from school, the studying, the exams, the fucking mundane drag of it all that he’s found peace in.

Or maybe he’s just found peace in knowing that he can wake up half-past noon, fall asleep in the sand, drench himself in meandering around this small town until the buzz of youth and anarchy wears thin.  It hasn’t dulled yet – this freedom, the mates he’s met, the life he’s consumed until he was shitfaced on it all – but he can feel it starting to tarnish right around the edges.  He’s almost ready for it all to end, fade away.  _Almost_.

The sun shifts, hiding behind a few clouds for a moment – _I’m gonna tell ‘em that I’ve got no one to blame. For every time I feel lame, I’m looking up_.  Zayn sinks his teeth into his lip again, gazing to a passing Eleanor and Phoebe, who are cotton candy sweet with their ice lollies, glossy smiles.  Their jean shorts ride low on their hips and high on their thighs, colorful bikini tops that hide just enough that Zayn’s slightly intrigued.  Not enough to put in a conscious effort to do more than jerk his head as some form of greeting towards them.  It’s enough, their petite giggles and small waves drawing up blush on their cheeks while Zayn licks out a smile.  If he was interested, he’d offer to come by their beach house later, giving them a taste of his cock before he decided which one of them he wanted to fuck more.

He’s not, hasn’t been in a while – well, when it comes to girls, at least.  But he still plays with the thought for a moment, his hand reaching low to adjust his cock in his pants when they’re not looking.  It wouldn’t be worth it – he knows – but these days of coastal dreams and inhibition are fading.  Responsibility is setting in.  It’s making it uncomfortable to breathe some days but he manages.

The waves crack loud and high, chasing down a surf that Tom barely manages to survive, Danny laughing from the mound of sand he’s perched on.  Zayn grins, lowering his brow to watch Amelia chase after the last kiss of the wave, splashing up water while blonde hair flies in the wind.  The world tips a little while Jesy scoffs at a gawking Max, pinning up scarlet hair that looks too chunky and heavy for her petite body.  Max is an arse, cat-calling while waving her over and she frowns expectantly, rolling her eyes before walking away.  Zayn’s not certain how they could make it any more obvious that they’ll be fucking again behind the rocks a little further down the beach in about an hour.

He makes a face because, yeah, that’s sort of a gross image.  Repulsive.

Zayn leans back, hands digging into the sand behind him to steady himself.  He knows they’ll all be just a memory soon enough – only a handful of them actually attend his school back in Durham – and he doesn’t know if he’ll actually miss any of them.  It’s just some silly holiday from the books, the life of being a fresher long gone now, hiding behind the sun and the water.  He’s finished his first year, _barely_ , and he doesn’t know if he feels accomplished.  He feels… out of place.  Nothing about this town, with its sun tucked high in the air and a collection of bratty University kids with their parents’ blessings and money, feels like back home.  None of it feels like Yorkshire and his mum’s cooking and his sisters crowding him until all he knows is that closeness of family.

This place is just an escape from reality and maybe it’s just enough that he’s willing to live in it until the sun burns away and everything else simply ghosts over his mind.

“Oi, these fuckers are shit at the game,” Niall sighs, falling down into the sand next to Zayn.  He reaches out, plucking the fag from behind Zayn’s ear, his thumb swiping over that earring pierced into Zayn’s cartilage before slipping the end of the cigarette between his lips, letting it dangle.

He lets it sit loosely between those pink lips, not bothering to light it.  He never does.  They both know he does it for show rather than with intent.  Niall isn’t really into smoking or anything that addictive, though he likes a drag or two after a good blaze of some heady weed.  Zayn thinks maybe Niall wants to look cool, chilled but Niall just looks fucking ridiculous with his neon green shades hanging off the end of his nose, his tank top fitting loosely over his pale skin and a pair of board shorts that reach just the top of his knees.  They’re colored in greens, pinks, yellows with safari shapes and silly patches that were meant to look hip – again, he looks fucking ridiculous.  His skin is burning a sharp shade of red, but he’ll never tan.  He’ll glow bright rose and peel and look rather, well, _ridiculous_ with his shock blonde hair, electric blue eyes, and the kind of smile that’s more infectious than it is annoying.

He loves Niall, has since the first day they met during that silly orientation course at Durham.  He’s sort of clung to Niall – or Niall’s permanently attached himself to Zayn because Niall needs that sort of lifeline to keep himself grounded – until they were nothing short of best mates.  They’ve spent enough weekends chasing stupid parties, studying through hangovers and hot tea with smiles and fist bumps.  He helped Niall survive his English course while Niall managed him through some fucked out History course he should’ve dropped after the first week of class.

And maybe Niall was sickeningly happy all the fucking time with a stupid laugh that Zayn finds himself longing for when things turn too serious.  Maybe it was Niall’s idea to spend their summer here, in this washed up town with nothing to do but chase the waves and drink the nights away.  Maybe Zayn thought it was a silly idea, bunking in a rundown, three bedroom beach house with _four_ other Uni guys who didn’t seem to give two fucks about anything other than getting high and finding someone to blow them – and Zayn’s noticed that, after a few weeks, these lads don’t seem to focus too much on the fact that it’s another chap’s lips wrapped around their cocks rather than some shitfaced city girl, though he doesn’t say anything – until the sun crept up into the sky again.  But he and Niall didn’t pay attention to any of that.  Niall’s kept busy chasing after girls – the occasional lad or two –, drinking beers, working on his footie game while Zayn roamed the sand reading books and sketching out the waves on his beat-up notebook.

Yeah, he loves Niall.  Honestly, he does.

“Well, except maybe Josh,” Niall says, wagging his eyebrows as he peeks over those stupid sunglasses at Josh.  He bites gently on his bottom lip and Zayn catches the flair of interest in Niall’s eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Still avoiding the fact that he might fancy you?” Zayn asks, his voice low.  He nudges Niall with his elbow, waiting until Niall stops staring at Josh’s chest – Zayn can admit that the guy _is_ rather fit – before barking out a laugh.

“I’m not avoiding,” Niall declares, lifting his chin.

Zayn hums, nodding.  “What are you doing then?”

Niall lifts his shoulders for a careless shrug.  “Weighing my options.”

“Which are?” Zayn says with a snort.

Niall drags his feet in the sand, peeking over to where Eleanor is hanging on Phoebe’s shoulder, waving to a few of the boys.

“They’re immense, Zaynie,” Niall notes, leaning back with a grin.

Zayn huffs out another laugh, scrubbing his own fingers through Niall’s fluffy hair.  “Bullshit, mate.”

“I could – “

“You haven’t and probably won’t,” Zayn tells him with a wide grin.  “Just give it a go with Josh.”

Niall’s lips purse and Zayn’s certain he’s doing his best to give Zayn an incredulous look behind those sunglasses but he doesn’t have the strength to find out.  He scoops up a handful of sand, letting it slip between his fingers, breathing in the air.  It’s the right kind of heat that a nice drag off a joint would elevate.

He’ll remember that for later on, when the sun is starting to dip lower.

“Teach ‘em anything new today, Ni?” Zayn wonders, cocking his head back to look on Niall.  He can’t see those blue eyes behind those dark sunglasses but he knows they’re lit, matching the brightness of his smile.

“Fuck no,” Niall barks out with a laugh, dragging his fingers through his scruffy blonde hair again.  Zayn imagines it smells like dirty sea water and salt, just the way Niall likes it.

“Because – “

“Because they are not worthy of my truly brilliant skills as an elite striker,” Niall points out, nothing about his words arrogant or off-putting.  They’re just, well, _Niall_ -like.  He’s not sure how to describe it, but then again, he’s not sure how to describe Niall either.

Zayn’s lips curl into a smile, shaking his head.  “You’re an idiot.”

“Oi, the shitheads think they know it all,” Niall pushes out, still grinning.  He rubs at his chest, the soft cotton of his tank top shifting and revealing more of that pasty chest.  “Especially that Tommo.”

Zayn nods, lips pursing.  He glances past Niall, making a face as a few of the lads chase after the ball, pretending to look in shape for a few of the girls who pass with their sunglasses on top of their heads and their skin a glistening gold.

It’s hard to miss someone like Louis Tomlinson.  It’s not because he’s overly attractive or incredibly fit because Zayn doesn’t think he is.  It’s more so because Louis carries himself in a way that makes you think he _owns_ this town, every square inch.  It’s the defiance in those sea-salt blue eyes, the curve of his smile that’s not quite haughty but very much confident.  It’s the scruff that lines his mouth – Zayn remembers when he was fresh-faced and preppy the first day Zayn met him at the beginning of their first term back at Durham – and the scattering of ink across his chest and arms, some rebellious tattoo across his ankles.  He’s ripped jean shorts, joggers, and skippers on his feet most of the time with tank tops or low-slung t-shirts that show off the curled black ink and nice build on his small frame.  He’s beanies at night, an ocean-wrecked fringe during the day with sandy brown hair that used to be slicked back and proper.  The months have worn away _that_ Louis – the one who wore striped shirts, braces, rolled up chinos of every color and neatly pressed blazers.  He’s a washed out version of himself now.

Zayn rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyeing Louis as he makes a simple enough goal, the sideline crowd cheering while Eleanor sprints across the sand into Louis’ arms.  He shakes her off with a proper kiss on the cheek, patting her bum until she’s sulking away.  There was something there, between them, at the beginning of the summer but just like everything else in this town, it’s lost its luster.  Louis’ moved onto a good shag here and there with whomever he chose – and Zayn’s quite observant about the few chaps he’s seen leaving Louis’ parents beach house with a love bite or two and their heads hung low – while Eleanor keeps chasing after a dream long gone.  He pities her, really, but love is a fucked up routine in life.

He chooses not to participate actively for reasons just like that.

“What a prick,” Niall sighs out, fingers balling into the soft sand.

Zayn nods, but he doesn’t think he agrees.  He sort of likes Louis, not nearly as much as Niall seems _not_ to but still.  Louis is straightforward, never leading anyone along with his intentions or his thoughts about them.  In fact, Zayn thinks maybe Louis is one of those people who could use a filter… or a fucking punch in the face for the shit he says.  But he keeps Zayn laughing, amused with his flair for dramatics or rudeness.

“So why do you hang around him?” Zayn wonders, dragging his fingers along his scruff.

“Same reason as you,” Niall says with a bright smile, his nose scrunching.  “The lad is fucking hilarious.  And he throws the best parties at that beach house.”

It’s true – Louis always does have the best parties with kegs of beer, hard liquor that Zayn can swish around in his mouth to wash out the taste of a bad kiss or an annoying Uni girl hoping to blow him before the night is over.  There’s loud, thumping music that usually draws the attention of the local authorities – none of them ever shut the party down; just watch closely from afar – and an endless stretch of people that Zayn never plans to know intimately.  They all just help create the scene, the atmosphere he likes when he’s buzzing off some sticky weed Niall’s scored off of that Harry Styles kid or watching the endless hookups that half of them will regret in the morning.

“Yet you _hate_ the little shit,” Zayn remarks, considering lighting up that cigarette when the air starts to feel too dry and grating.

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“And you would use?” Zayn hums out, lifting an eyebrow.

Niall chews over the thought for a moment, his brow knit together.  “Despise?”

Zayn snorts, his mouth curving into a grin.  “Acceptable word choice.”

Niall nods proudly, his own grin as wide as Zayn’s.  “All of your tutoring paid off.”

“Learn you have my young Horan,” Zayn says with a lofty smile, nodding at him.

Niall groans, tossing a handful of sand at Zayn.  “Save that _Star Trek_ shit – “

“ _Star Wars_ ,” Zayn corrects him.

“ – for some other geek.  Told you, ‘m not into that bullshit.”

“Right,” Zayn says with an eye roll, dusting the sand from his chinos.

Zayn slides the end of his cigarette between his lips, letting it rest there while scoping out the rest of the scene, which is mainly dead but he’s not here for the people.  As much as he hates the water – he won’t even dip his feet in it.  It’s a fear from childhood and he has no plans to invest in a way to get over it – he loves the sights of the beach.  That kid trying to catch a wave, the way the sand shifts in color the further you walk down the shore.  He likes that gallery of rocks near the cliff side, the seaweed resting along the edge.  Everything about it reminds him of those dreams he had when he was a kid of being a writer and living near the ocean to draw up inspiration for a good novel – _You have a fancy ride but baby, I’m the one who has the key_.

“I got us an invite to Lou’s end of the summer bash.  You know, the one everyone’s been chatting about the whole summer break,” Niall tells him, his voice just a little too giddy.

Zayn makes a face, drawing back some.  He curls his lips around the cigarette, still not lighting it.  He feels as silly as Niall but he knows he’s much cooler.  Much, _much_ cooler.

“Invite?”

“Yeah,” Niall drags out, looking a bit defeated.  “The little shit only lets you in by invite for this party.  It’s way too exclusive.”

Zayn knows that’s code for _‘I don’t want you to fuck up my parent’s house right before the end of the summer because none of you are going to help me clean it’_ but he pushes it off.  Louis’ a freak like that and, yeah, Zayn can see that.

“Huh,” Zayn huffs out, slipping the fag behind his ear again.  He twists the end of the earring that’s high in his cartilage, pursing his lips for Niall.  “Should I feel important?”

“Hardly,” Niall laughs out, pushing his sunglasses up.  The end of his nose is a cherry-pinkish color but those eyes stand out like a collection of newborn stars.  He chews on his thumbnail before adding, “He seems to be inviting all of the regular douchebags, but he says he totally wants you and me there.”

“Because you two are mates now, right?”

Niall offers him a middle finger response that Zayn giggles at.

“He’s a _dick_.”

“So you’ve pointed out,” Zayn sighs, dancing his fingers along his dying quiff.  “Repeatedly.”

“I just like to remind you.”

“Good job,” Zayn smiles out, dropping his eyebrows when Niall nods happily.

Zayn draws mindless shapes in the sand, eyeing Max as he stomps passed.  Definitely a no-go with Jesy, Zayn assumes.

“When is it?”

“The day before we leave for Uni,” Niall answers quickly as if he doesn’t want Zayn to hear.  Zayn does, holding back a scowl.

“You want me to get shitfaced, party for hours and then – “

“I’ll drive the first half,” Niall offers with a weak smile.  It’s completely unbelievable and Zayn hates the way Niall’s a little puppy with those eyes and his lips tipping downward into a frown.

“You barely drive the first quarter,” Zayn reminds him, digging his toes into the sand.

“I try.”

He does, Zayn will give him that.  It’s just that, well, Niall doesn’t have the attention span for long drives.  Or studying.  Or anything.  Yet, Niall gets great grades, managed to maintain a long distance relationship with some girl back in Mullingar for the first term and can even sit through a four-hour session of Halo with a few of the guys back at the beach house without needing a toilet break or the usual useless banter that crowds guys and video games.

Zayn wonders if Niall’s one of those completely mental fucks who just might actually be a genius.  He hopes not; he couldn’t handle that kind of blow to his own ego.

“Why do you want to go?” Zayn asks, his voice lighthearted.  He’s not really interested but he’s asking for the sake of conversation.

Niall balks at him, shifting completely in the sand until he’s facing Zayn.  Zayn lifts his brow, trying to ignore the way Niall’s glaring at him with narrowed blue eyes and pressed together lips.

“I don’t know.  Maybe it’s the possibility I might likely have a chance to shag Cher,” Niall hisses, his words low enough that Cher can’t hear from a few feet away.  “Or, even better, Lou’s ex.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs out, shaking his head.  “Never happening Ni.”

“It might.”

Zayn narrows his own eyes, giving Niall his best attempt at looking incredulous.  It rattles Niall a little and he feels accomplished.

“I could,” Niall says with a frown, digging his toes into Zayn’s calf.

“Chezza is not giving you the time of day,” Zayn declares, teeth dragging on his lip.  “And I doubt El is going to be shitfaced enough – “

“You forget about that party a few weeks ago where she snogged Nick _and_ Andy,” Niall reminds him.

Zayn nods slowly.  It did happen, though Nick definitely fancies cock more than anything Eleanor has to offer and Andy, well, he’s desperate enough to snog anyone giving him the chance.

“She’s not going to hook up with you,” Zayn says dryly.

“Oh ye of little – “

“Don’t you dare.”

Niall shrugs, lips tripping into a smile.  “I’m getting laid at this party.  One last summer fuck before we’re back at Uni.”

Zayn snorts because he can’t remember the _first_ fuck Niall’s had this whole summer.  He pushes at his hair rather than reminding Niall, nodding because it seems like the right thing to do.  He has no qualms with giving Niall false hope if it’ll help the kid make it through the next few days.

“I’ll support you the whole way, Ni.”

“ _Pssh_ , like I’ll need it,” Niall laughs out, the sound echoing over the crash of the waves.

Zayn takes note of the way Niall leans in though, his eyes a little lidded with concern pulling at his expression.  He grips his fingers around Zayn’s forearm, digging in until the skin turns almost white before whispering, “But you’ll help me, right?”

Zayn inhales quickly, stifling his laugh as he nods.  “Anything you need.”

Niall seems to lighten up at that, nodding back at Zayn while loosening his grip on Zayn.  He leans back, settling further into the sand while Zayn lets his eyes drift away, smirking.  He knows Niall’s shit at flirting, approaching women in a way that’s almost comical rather than serious and intriguing.  He tries, honestly he does, but he fails more than he succeeds.

“Besides,” Niall drags out, Zayn’s eyes catching Niall’s again.  There’s something untrustworthy in them, almost teasing before Niall’s jerking his head just ahead of them, adding, “Don’t tell me you don’t want one last chance to spend a little time with Liam.”

Liam Payne.

Zayn’s not one of those guys who hears silly theme music whenever someone enters a room, makes a grand appearance with all fuzzy lines and pretty light but, well, Liam’s the kind of guy that Zayn thinks those kind of miracles happen for.  He’s the kind of chap who sort of makes Zayn’s heart stop – fuck, that sounds stupid – and makes him forget the last three minutes of his life.  And it’s not that Zayn has a crush on him, _technically_ , but maybe he does.  Maybe he thinks about Liam more than a few times a day and he might like chatting with Liam just to look at him, listen to his even voice, the way his mouth curves into a nice smile when he’s happy – which is almost as often as Niall is, _almost_.

His teeth bite down on his lower lip because, yeah, this might be a crush.  A fucking mind-blowing crush that he’s had since he first met Liam at the beginning of the summer, his hair buzzed short then with round brown eyes and the kind of smile that kicks at Zayn’s senses until he’s a bit helpless.  He’s thankful Niall only gives him shit about it every once in a while – it might have something to do with that incident where Zayn tried to drown Niall within an inch of his life when Niall blurted out how Zayn felt about Liam in front of a few Uni girls who were just visiting for the weekend.  Niall was completely pissed, Zayn’s cheeks aching from blush and it took them almost two days to speak to each other again, but Niall was apologetic and Zayn was forgiving – but he can’t help the way his cheeks flare a pretty pink shade, eyes narrowing to watch the way the sun flickers behind Liam like he’s a fucking angel.

Yeah, it’s definitely a crush.

That short, clipped hair is quite a bit longer on the top now, a soft brown hue that looks a little lighter than it was two months ago.  Zayn can identify the swirl of color in Liam’s brown eyes now – a nice shift of caramel and a coffee bean tint – and his cheeks and chin are dusted in a quiet blonde scruff.  His cheeks are round, even more defined when Liam’s mouth pushes up into that wide smile he usually carries.  His eyebrows are bushy in a very manly way with a sweet slope to his nose, wrinkles in his brow when he’s too thoughtful.  He’s fit – fuck, if he’s not even more muscular than he was a few months ago – with a nice thicket of hair running down the center of his chest, lining from the top of his low slung swim shorts to the edge of his navel.  His skin is always a brilliant sun-kissed shade – Zayn imagines Liam’s probably this golden in the winter months too – and he’s the kind of kid that Zayn imagines most people sort of glance over.

Zayn can’t.

He can’t seem to get this gentle, incredibly nice chap out of his mind and not just because he looks amazing to Zayn.  Not just because Zayn thinks about fucking Liam right here in the sand, rolling around with the grains sticking to their skin, the scent of salt and seaweed drying along their flesh.  No, Zayn’s decided after that first month that this feeling has grown a little further than that.

Liam’s a nice guy, probably too kind.  He cares about everyone, every little thing.  He’s kind of smart in an almost unnoticeable way, a bit daft when it comes to complicated things but Zayn doesn’t mind.  He’s shit at telling a good joke, most of them falling flat but Zayn laughs anyways because the guy seems so determined to be funny.  He tries so hard to be noticed and Zayn thinks it’s impossible for the rest of the world to miss how this lad glows like a fucking supernova.

The town employs a select few group of kids every year to lifeguard down at the beach – probably some sort of way of appeasing the authorities though Zayn’s certain a good portion of these secondary school and Uni students don’t have a clue about how to properly do their job.  Liam’s one of the few, along with Perrie with her wavy lilac hair, bright blue eyes, uneven smile, Josh, who seems more interested in playing footie than saving a drowning toddler, Calum, a nice kid in his own right though Zayn’s certain he’s stoned more than half the time, and some other nameless faces Zayn doesn’t really care about.  It’s not that he hasn’t tried to remember all of their names but he’s more than a little distracted by Liam half of the time.

It’s probably the arms – the ones that now have a few tattoos on them like Liam’s growing more into a man throughout the summer – or possibly the glimmering light of his smile.  It might be the way Liam is the only one who takes his job seriously or possibly the definition of the muscles in his hips, that nice line that rides right down into those stupid navy blue shorts they have to wear.  Not that Zayn’s imagined what lies beneath those shorts but maybe he’s thought about peeling them down, unsnapping the front to swallow Liam’s cock whole, choking on it until Liam’s gentle fingers pulled at his hair, forced Zayn to take his time until his jaw ached.

Fuck, he hopes Niall doesn’t catch him palming his cock into a proper position as Liam jogs closer to them.  He ducks his head a little, that blush starting to settle in against his cheeks – _You turn me on, you lift me up_.  He can feel Niall’s eyes on him for a minute, a second too long.  Zayn wants to punch him, or run away before Liam gets close enough but it’s a little too late for that.

“Payner,” Niall calls out with a thick grin.

Zayn pushes at his hair when Liam gets close enough, probably wrecking it but it’s inevitable.  He looks up through his lashes, a curl of sweat sliding down his back as Liam’s cheeks push up high with a grin, those silly blue shorts riding low on his hips again.

Liam kicks a pile of sand at Niall, laughing.  “Stop calling me that, Nialler.  It’s a stupid nickname.”

Niall lifts an eyebrow as if to say _‘And_ Nialler _sounds any better?’_ but he doesn’t.  He merely waves Liam off, leaning back to look up at Liam standing over them.

Zayn pretends not to notice the little looks Liam gives him, an even smile on his lips because it’s all he can really manage right now.  He’s always been a little shy, something his mum gave him shit about as a kid but that’s mostly with people he doesn’t know.  He _knows_ Liam, well sort of.  They’ve got on since that first chat back in June, walking down the nearly dead beach as the sun dropped low behind the clouds and pinkish sky.  Liam’s one of the few people that Zayn considers a mate now, someone he’ll probably still talk to once he goes back to University, leaving behind this hazy summer.  It’s just that, well, he might’ve known back then he was going to end up fancying Liam – _You lift me up, don’t you ever stop. I’m here with you._

“How’s the day going?” Niall finally asks, shifting further into the sand.

Liam gives a small shrug, tilting his head to the side a bit thoughtfully.  “Pretty dull.  It’s pretty dead around here now.”

Niall nods, sighing.  “How long you sticking around?”

“Just a few days after Lou’s party,” Liam replies, biting down against the corner of his mouth while looking at Zayn for a moment.  Zayn tries to offer up a smile that slides sideways across his mouth, his brow crinkling.

“I’m gonna crash at Lou’s beach house, help out Mr. Wagner at his shop a couple of days before heading back home for Uni,” Liam explains, those eyes flickering away.  Zayn tries not to frown, avoiding his own thoughts for a moment.

Liam’s one of the few people who fits into this town, this sort of environment.  He seems local, though Zayn knows he’s from the Midlands, further away from Durham than Zayn wants him to be.  Further from Zayn than he’d like, something he wants to tell Liam but just can’t seem to.

“Which means Lou’s sticking around longer, eh?” Niall asks a little halfheartedly.

Liam nods, a sly smile folding over his lips.  “Still hate him?”

“Still mates with Satan?”

Liam snorts, nodding.  He cups the nape of his neck with his hand, the sweat along his skin flickering off the light of the sun like small fireflies.  Zayn wants to lick it off.

Zayn is startled when Liam’s foot rests on top of his, dragging grains of sand between their skins.  He looks up, takes in Liam fully for a moment.  He’s nothing like the lads Zayn’s fooled around with back home with their exotic features or rough appearance that makes Zayn feel dirty.  Liam’s soft everywhere, the kind of glow of innocence that Zayn runs from.  He’s a quiet wave lapping at the shore, the sun dancing behind the moon.  He’s so… plain, but not.  He’s an incredible piece of artwork that Zayn thinks only he’s fortunate to look upon.

Liam’s toes shift over the bones in Zayn’s foot, the shadow of the sun hiding the color in Liam’s cheeks when Zayn stares at him.  Zayn wonders if they’re a hushed pink like they always are when Zayn gives him a compliment, ruffles his hair with a grin.  He wonders how the fuck this kid can be so outgoing with the rest of the world but he’s neatly tucked into this other form when he’s with Zayn.

Maybe Zayn’s just that special?  He doubts it.

“Are you going to Lou’s party?” Liam asks, still rubbing at the back of his neck.  There’s a shyness about his voice that makes Zayn want to ruin him and kiss him quiet.  “I asked him to invite you.”

“You did?” Zayn wonders, tilting his head back.  He bites down on his smile.

Niall’s chuckling lowly, Liam ducking his head after he realizes what he’s said.

“Well, I kinda, um, wanted _both_ of you to,” Liam stumbles, swallowing half of his words.  “I asked him if you could come.”

Zayn fingers his hair – fuck, it probably looks like shit now – while nipping at a grin.  “Both of us?”

It’s not that he likes fucking with Liam until he’s like this, but he thinks it’s adorable.  The way Liam tenses up, has a goofy grin on his lips with eyes brighter than a fading galaxy.  It tickles Zayn in the worst way and yeah, maybe he likes the way Liam’s smile looks on his face or the way the corners of his eyes crinkle up when his cheeks push higher.  The sun slides a little to the left and he can see just the faintest touch of blush across those round cheeks and it pushes at the corners of Zayn’s mouth.

Maybe Niall’s going to tease him for hours later because he’s grinning back at Liam, dragging his fingers through the sand.

“Both of you,” Liam concurs through a stumbled breath, nodding quickly before trading glances between Zayn and Niall.

Niall nods back, lifting an eyebrow at Zayn that Liam catches, wrinkling his own brow before he’s kicking sand at Zayn’s feet.

“You little wanker,” Liam laughs out, his eyes turning into tiny slits of joy.

Zayn snorts, lifting his shoulders for a small shrug.

“We’ll be there,” Niall confirms, grinning at Liam and Liam’s smiling back, a burst of indefinable elation running his face.

Shit, this kid is kind of helplessly adorable.  It makes Zayn sick.

“Yeah, we’re going,” Zayn sighs out, itching for that cigarette now.

Liam nods at him again, biting down on that smile.  He’s not sure he really gets Liam, though he thinks he does.  Liam’s the kind of guy who gets excited about cans of Dr. Pepper and strawberry bubblegum.  Still, he’s fun and kind of dreamy in the way that he’s unexpected when Zayn thinks he gets it.  He doesn’t really drink much – Zayn’s seen him have a beer or two at parties they’ve both just happened to be at – and he’s sort of awkward with everyone except for Niall and Zayn, Louis’ too.  He doesn’t swear much either but he makes up for that in scattered tattoos, a sort of seriousness that Zayn admires and the ability to make you feel comfortable when you don’t really want to be.  Liam’s an electric guitar solo in the middle of an anthem-like rock song – completely expected but the feeling you get afterwards is a little breathtaking.

Liam gives Zayn a small look – curious? – before he’s biting down on the corner of his lip, tipping lips revealing a smile.

“Is today the day I get to take you for a swim?”

Zayn fiddles with a smirk for a moment.  Liam knows he’s terrified of the water – well, maybe not _terrified_ of it but there’s no fucking way he’s going near any kind of large body of water and you can fuck off if you try to make him – but this has become a routine between them.  He thinks it happened that first time they really had a chat, the cool shift of the air dancing off the water as the sun rolled behind the ocean line – _“I want to teach you.  Can I teach you?”_ – and it’s sort of become a thing since then.

Liam offers, Zayn never agrees.  It’s a repeated custom between them that ends in smiles and laughs.

“Maybe,” Zayn offers, ducking his head a little.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely not.”

Liam laughs, loud and unrestrained until Zayn’s grinning up at him.  Suddenly, the world feels blurred and faded.  He’s not the kind of bloke who gets hung up on anyone but Liam?  Fuck, he’s pretty sure this feeling isn’t going away – summer or not.

“Well, go for a jog with me in the morning,” Liam requests, his cheeks still lifted and his smile is almost too wide.

Zayn lifts his brow, rubbing at his chin with a grin.  “Asking me out Leeyum?”  He’s fairly certain Liam hates when Zayn teases him like this, dragging out his name until it sticks to the roof of Zayn’s mouth like melted butterscotch.

There’s a catch of blush right along his cheeks, Liam shoveling up some more sand to kick at Zayn.

“You wish.”

 _Yeah, I do_ , Zayn thinks, biting down on the tip of his tongue before the words fall out.

“Not my type,” Zayn says nonchalantly, shrugging.

Liam pretends to look wounded, a hand on that bare chest with a frown pulling at his lips.  Zayn shakes his head with a laugh and, fuck, why do they do this?  Pretend to flirt.  Pretend like the summer’s not dying slowly.

Pretend like this town won’t be just a memory in a few days and Zayn’s heart will be somewhere buried beneath the sand like his feet are right now.

“Bunch of idiots,” Niall mutters under a breath, laughing lowly.

Liam runs his hand over the side of his head where the hair is still a bit prickly and sharp.  He pushes his toes at Zayn’s foot one more time before drawing back, glancing around.  The waves are a gentle curl now, a few more of the town’s people – and the Uni kids that are finally starting to recover from their hangovers from the previous night – are starting to trickle in and it’s a nice crowd.  There’s a string of laughing, another footie game taking up further down the beach.  Sand castles are forming a little closer to the shore, a stretch of glistening skin from people sunbathing, taking in the rays of hot sunlight.

“I should, um, get back to work,” Liam says, chewing on his lip.  His fingers stroke the side of his face, right along that stubble that Zayn wants rubbing against the inside of his thighs.

“Us too,” Niall agrees, leaning back until he’s resting in the sand.

Liam arches an eyebrow, Zayn too though he’s not quite as obvious.

“Its hard work looking this fit in the sun.  We have to catch a proper tan before we get shitfaced tonight,” Niall declares like its common knowledge.

Well, it sort of is – the getting hammered part, not the looking good part because Zayn doesn’t think Niall’s going to get very far in that category.

Liam kicks up some more sand on Niall, giggling.  Zayn does the same because Niall might be his best mate but he’s fucking clueless some days.  No, _every_ day.

“You’re mad Nialler,” Liam snickers out, shaking his head.

“You too Payner,” Niall sighs back, his tone vapid.  He’s falling into his usual haze of laziness, curling down into the sand like it’s a bed.  “You should come hang with us later, yeah?”

Liam gives Zayn a quick look, a thoughtful one that Zayn pretends not to notice.  His heart flutters, a thick and heavy beat that sounds like tribal music with a quiet layer of the percussion of a marching band.  He wants Liam to stay long enough for Zayn to smell the scent of sunblock, ocean water, and that hint of coastal firewood that always sticks to Liam’s skin.

“I’d like that.”

“I bet,” Niall breathes out, those sunglasses over his eyes again.  Zayn knows Niall could kip in the sand for hours, catching a nice burn on his skin that’ll fade a few hours later.

Liam tries to laugh through a tinge of embarrassment, Zayn doing his best to look off into the water, a vacant look on his face.  He can’t help the way he’s peeking up at Liam through his lashes, waiting for Liam to wade around a little longer.

“Later,” Liam says softly, running his foot along the bare skin of Zayn’s ankle.  He’s smirking the way Zayn thinks a best mate would.

Zayn nods at him, pushing out a grin that feels genuine though he doesn’t know if it is.  It’s just enough.

“Later,” he repeats, his voice dry and burning off the edges.

Liam jerks his head into a nodding fashion, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  Zayn mimics him, his cheeks pushing a little higher on his face.  His stomach muscles tighten and he’s not afraid to admit he likes this little thing he and Liam do.

He just won’t admit it aloud.  _Ever_.

When Liam’s stripping through the sand back to his lifeguard tower, some worn-down chair in the sky that’s quite a distance from where Zayn and Niall are – and Zayn doesn’t take into account that Liam always travels so far just to talk to them – with faded white paint, one of those life buoys hanging off a rope and a beach towel as his cushion, Niall lifts his head a little.  Liam’s sliding on a pair of sunglasses, muscles stretched out and golden.  He’s waving to a few passing children, nodding at Andy and Greg before motioning for Louis to come closer.

“Zaynie and Payner,” Niall says quietly with a thundering smirk, shaking his head.  “You two, I swear.”

Zayn feels his jaw tighten, peering at Niall with a stiff look for a moment.  It doesn’t last, never does.

Niall doesn’t seem too bothered by it, tilting his head further into the sand until the sun is slicking his forehead in sweat.  He rests a hand on his chest, baking in the sweltering heat.  He looks a bit awkward like he’s trying too hard to look like he fits into this scene.  He’s not the surfer-type like Liam and Louis are or the kind that can lay in the sun for hours like he was raised in California – though Cher and Phoebe do it quite well.  He’s not cigarettes in the sand, the ocean licking at his ankles with a nice buzz from cans of beer and shit games of volleyball.

Niall’s bonfires at night with his guitar and a crowd of mates, grinning all the way.

Zayn laughs at him, a quick one-sided one as Niall smirks.  He looks amused, blowing out an exhale as if he’s been holding it in.

“He’s a good chap and you, well, you seem like you have a good heart when you’re not being a complete twat.  Think you two would be great together,” Niall mutters.  He rarely does this – wax thoughtfully but Zayn thinks Niall’s pretty amazing at it.

“Deep,” Zayn says playfully.

Niall gives a careless shrug, lips puckering.  “Not really.  But I like the guy.  You too.  It’s sort of stupid that a whole summer was wasted not making this,” Niall makes a hand motion that looks a bit crude before continuing, “ _thing_ happen between you two.  I mean, if only for the summer.”

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers though he doesn’t really believe himself.

Liam’s not the kind of guy you fuck for a summer.  Zayn thinks Liam’s the kind of guy you spend years falling in love with.  Zayn doesn’t know if he has room in his mind for that kind of commitment.

Zayn ignores the rest of Niall’s words – something about a night of drinking with Jordan and the guys, maybe going to that beat-up pub not too far from where they’re staying to meet up with Eleanor and Phoebe – and focuses on the way the waves collapse against the shore.  He slips that cigarette between his lips, finally lighting it.  He lets the blue smoke curl around them, huffing in a deep drag while eyeing the way the sun stretches along the water.

He chews on his lip in between puffs, trying not to look up at Liam.  He fails.  He lets his gaze drag down Liam’s wide shoulders, the way his hair looks sandy and damp from sweat.  He imagines his tongue running down Liam’s spine, his fingers curling around Liam’s hips.  He wants to be stretched out beneath Liam’s hands, lazy kisses drug over his neck and down his chest until he feels Liam’s mouth over his navel.  He sighs, another long drag of tasty smoke, wondering what Liam’s smile looks like after sex.  He wonders if Liam glows in the morning, sleepy eyes and soft cheeks.  He pushes another roll of smoke from the side of his mouth, licking his tongue over dry lips.

Zayn smiles, chancing a glance at Niall.  He’s passed out, his skin already starting to redden.  He watches the birds streak over the sky again, swallows a nice taste of August air before flickering his eyes over Liam again.  He thinks Liam’s looking back, just over his shoulder, smiling.  It tickles his skin, leaving him hotter than the sun ever could.  He digs his free hand into the sand, the dead breeze from the ocean rolling over him.

He feels like a complete idiot but he thinks he could, just for a moment, spend years learning to love Liam.  He drags his teeth over his lip, eyes sliding shut after another inhale.  He doesn’t know whether to feel happy or completely frustrated by the thought but he knows he doesn’t have to give it much thought.

The summer has already slipped between his fingers.  There’s no getting this back now.

**

The sun has already started its long scrape down the sky, leaving behind long streaks of burnt orange, rolling pinks, a swirl of blue beneath the flaming yellow with a dash of emerging violet.  Zayn can trace the star bursts of scarlet high and beaming behind the fading sun.  It’s a graceful tumble, one that Zayn wishes he could map out across a large blank canvas with a splash of every color, even the spotted green he sees when he closes his eyes tight enough.  It’s a heady rush, the way it’s all glow in the dark magical and Zayn thinks it might be his favorite part of this broken down town of beach residents, Uni students, small families, and dusted up people who work hard for a living without much of a living to work for.

He always wanted to study art, a major his parents were never too keen on.  They thought _‘better’_ of him – their word, not his.  Something practical like being an English teacher back home – again, Yorkshire, a fuzzy memory at the back of his eyelids – seemed good enough for them though they preferred he work towards becoming a professor, maybe a journalist.  He doesn’t give two shits about the news or informative stuff like that but he doesn’t tell them.  He merely nods along, following expectation because he thinks he broke the mold they wanted to fit him in a long time ago with all of the tattoos, the smoking, the screwing around with the neighbor’s nephew when he was just sixteen and ready to get off on any available pair of hands or nice red lips.  His mum has sort of turned a blind eye to those things – “One day, you’re going to be great,” she told him in a non-condescending way though it didn’t exactly feel that way – but his baba was a little more persistent about him finding his own path in life.

Unfortunately, he never could figure that part out.  They had their own expectations yet told him to be himself.  It’s all a bit hypercritical and he feels counterproductive thinking about it.

Zayn sniffs at the air, that rank scent of ocean water sweet with saltiness and his cigarette smoke.  He thinks one day he’ll love the way the smell will bring him back here.  He blows out a small cloud of grayish blue, leaning back on that small stonewall that leads down to the beach, watching the sky and the way the clouds move a little lazier now.  He gives his shoulders a roll, trying to focus in on any one of the clouds but he can’t.  They just drift and sway in a comforting way that makes him itchy, anxious for a world where this kind of peace doesn’t exist.

This is the kind of stuff dreams are made of and he doesn’t think he’s ever been that lucky.  He drags the heel of his scuffed up Converse over the rocky road, the red fabric spotted with dirt and beer stains.  His fingers toy with his hair – it’s a little stiffer now from product and a good wash – while unconsciously running the tips over that stretch that’s faded blonde, almost copper now.  His plaid shirt is completely unbuttoned, the collage of tattoos on his chest fully exposed to the dying sun.  He picks at the tattered material of his jeans, lifting his cigarette for another stiff inhale of smoke.  He lets it sit in his throat, circling his chest, watching the way the birds swoop down into the sand, pecking at nothing.

Something serene sticks to his teeth, this feeling.  He smiles, something mute and soft, while watching Josh hunker down into the sand next to Shannon and Ashton, easing an arm around Mark’s broad shoulders with a grin.  Zayn’s teeth nip at his bottom lip, everything crawling over his skin like the fading heat of the day.  He’s waiting on the way the air gets a little cooler with the night, the way it stretches along your skin in a calming way rather than that dark chill he gets back at Durham where the sky is dark and unfriendly.

Another deep drag of smoke, letting the clouds curl from between his puckered lips.  He snorts to himself, catching Niall chugging down another beer with Eleanor wrapped in a blanket nearby, Jade and Phoebe next to her.  He’s talking animatedly, all hands and wide grins, and Zayn knows Niall only gets like this when he’s halfway to being buzzed.  He can only see the backs of the girls’ heads but he knows they’re laughing _with_ Niall rather than _at_ him, this instinctual talent Niall has at being funny without even trying.  It’s probably some rough version of flirting that won’t work – Niall’s sort of been crushing on Eleanor since that first week but he’s kept his distance out of some fucked up respect for Louis.

Zayn doesn’t quite understand how anyone could actually _respect_ Louis.  Fear him, yes.  Respect?  Probably not.

Zayn drags the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip, sighing out a breath when the wind kicks up nice and sharp.  It streaks over the water, the sea shaking and barking out a sound that Zayn wishes he hadn’t learned so well.  He was never one of those kids growing up who wanted to go to the beach, dig up sandcastles, chase the waves.  He wanted books, music, somewhere quiet to concentrate on blocking out the things in life he couldn’t change.  He was comic books and sour candies, clinging to his mum at the supermarket while she went on and on about how he needs friends, people his own age to play with.

He hated _“kids his own age.”_   Still does, mostly.

The sun sort of fades out in a halo of shadows blanketing over him.  Zayn rubs at his chin, looking up.  His brow scrunches together, something copper and undeniable rolling over his lips.  He sniffs with a small grin, another short pull of his cigarette that he holds carelessly.  He swallows, catching the way the light of another fading day blinks like chrome over Liam’s eyes – they’re a crisp brown like a gooey chocolate chip in the palm of your hand.  There’s a catching smile on Liam’s lips, slick from his tongue licking at them and they’re full, kissable.  Zayn’s not thinking about kissing him, no.  Well, _maybe_.  Maybe he’s thinking about the way they would probably feel on his neck, over the hollow of his collarbone, kissing over his chest like the moon licking at the sky.

He breathes in a sharp breath, coughing on an exhale of smoke while Liam’s raises his brow.  Zayn watches the way his skin wrinkles, that smile tipping a little sideways.  The scruff along his face – he was so young-looking, innocent, almost breakable when the summer first started – looks nice, maybe a little rough under the pads of Liam’s fingers when he rubs at his jaw thoughtfully.

“Your favorite spot?” Liam asks, shuffling his feet along the rocky road beneath them.

Zayn snorts, stubbing out his cigarette.  He thinks about lighting another one, anything to distract him from the way his eyes keep lingering on Liam like he’s neon and glows in the fucking dark.  He clears his throat, a quiet, “Maybe,” slipping past his lips before he’s leaning back to take in Liam.  He probably shouldn’t but it’s reflexively uncontrollable.

Liam looks nice in a pair of beat up shorts, which are really just a pair of poorly cut up chinos with the threads still hanging off the bottom of the legs.  His legs have a nice layer of hair on them, not that Zayn hasn’t noticed countless times on the beach, stealing glances from afar.  There’s a sun-kissed glow to his skin and Zayn wonders if the sun has done all of it or if maybe Liam’s just as tan and striking in January.  Fuck, he hopes so.  He hopes all of those features that he’s certain everyone finds so dull, but he looks at like a work of art are noticeable under gray skies and flakes of snow, are just that memorable.

Not that he’ll have a chance to find out, right?  Just a couple of days left.

“I see you out here quite a bit,” Liam admits, his cheeks turning six shades of pink once the words slide past his lips.  He cups at nape of his neck like a wallflower would, ducking his head.  “I mean, you know – “  The words die off, ripped into the quiet wind that burns over them.

Zayn grins, nodding.  He tips his chin up, the corners of his mouth rounding.  “I like it here.”

Liam nods back, glancing around.  He’s smiling, the sun peaking behind the horizon, and Zayn watches the pinks and gold of the sky drape over Liam’s skin, the thin fabric of his t-shirt.  His lips curl in a childlike amazement and Zayn thinks, just for a second, Liam probably looks that fascinated when a pair of lips kiss behind his ear, over his shoulder, across his chest.

Zayn runs his tongue over his lips, sighing softly.  His jeans feel tight, his chest too.  His fingers twitch, stretch along the denim on his legs.

“It’s nice,” Liam says, turning back to Zayn.  His smile is a little thicker, wave-ridden.

Zayn gives him a short nod, the heat dying off into something a little cooler and pleasant.  He wishes he could say the same about the blood rushing through his heart.

“You gonna join the others?” Zayn wonders, catching his bottom lip with his teeth while jerking his head in the direction of the sand.

Louis’ chasing Eleanor up and down the beach, kicking at the thick roll of a sliding tide.  Niall’s balancing a football on his knees.  Max’s clumsily walking away with Jesy’s hand in his – probably to that rundown shack that’s boarded up but they all know how to creep inside, find that stash of condoms someone put in there just beneath one of the floorboards – while Phoebe sings loudly to the fading sun.  Josh is sitting on the rocks a little off to the side, sipping on something wrapped in a brown paper bag with an arm slung around Aiden’s shoulders, leaning into whisper things Zayn never wants to hear.

He smiles to himself, his sister Doniya’s voice in his head – _It’s a cruel, cruel summer, leaving me here on my own. It’s a cruel, cruel summer, now you’re gone_ – like a scratched up record on repeat.

“Not yet,” Liam finally says, a steady breath leaving those pink, almost ruddy lips.

Zayn gives him a once over, trying not to look shocked because he’s not.  Liam doesn’t always cling to the pack, not like the wannabes or the ones looking to be a part of something just for the sake of it.  He’s not a loner, not like Zayn but he’s something of an observer.

Zayn likes that.  He likes Liam a little more but he’s not really determined to let anyone know that.

Liam chews on his thumbnail for a moment, shielding a smirk that Zayn knows is there.  It’s been there since those casual conversations they had near the banks of the beach, watching the scruff of calm waves with cool sand beneath their toes.  Those quiet conversations about their favorite films – Zayn wasn’t very good at hiding his smile when Liam listed off all of the Iron Man films; Liam was shit at hiding his blush too – and their favorite foods.  They chatted about home, their mums, food and the things that this town just didn’t have.  Silly chats about books and school – Liam was starting his first year at Uni in September – before they were grinning about comic books, the brilliance of Frank Ocean, and the taste of cotton candy in the spring.

Natural.  It’s the word Zayn associates with Liam.  Everything with him is just… _natural_.

“Can I,” Liam starts, a nervousness to him that’s awkward but completely Liam, “sit?”

Zayn lifts his shoulders carelessly, nibbling down on his lower lip.  He tries to act as if he doesn’t care, scooting over a little before dusting a clean spot for Liam to sit down on.  He does it because he’s a proper gentleman – something his mum instilled in him – not because he likes Liam or anything.

Except, he kind of does.  He’s sorted out somewhere between the summer sun and dusky haze that he likes Liam quite a bit.  More than he should considering he’ll be leaving all of this behind in two days.

He’ll be leaving Liam and that dopey smile, large eyes, fuzzy eyebrows, tan skin and, fuck, he doesn’t want to go.

Who the hell was this Liam chap anyway?

It all works against his brain for a little too long before Liam’s plopping down on the wall with his feet sort of hanging.  The toe of his Converse dust up against the rocks, the sun catching his profile until Zayn thinks about stroking the end of Liam’s nose with his thumb, tracing the plushness of those lips.  He’s scratching at the back of his head, distracted by the way Liam’s eyes light up when he starts talking about this town, this life, this quietness he loves.  Zayn figured that about Liam a long time ago – his innocence.

Liam’s the kind of chap that would settle down in some place distant like this, broken off from the wickedness of the world.  He’d buy a dog, walk him down the beach while tossing a Frisbee and letting the ocean lick at his feet.  He’d meet a nice girl, someone who was meant to be a housewife rather than a thrill seeker.  He imagines Liam would be great with his kids, all playful smiles and bright like Christmas lights.  Liam would probably walk to the nearest market for groceries, wave at all of the neighbors, work at one of the factories on the outskirts of the city with black marks smudged across those soft cheeks and a worthwhile feeling knowing he’s doing all of this for his family.

Zayn’s never imagined his life like that.  Not once.  He thinks about it now, though.  Waking up to warm sheets and a fluffy duvet with strong arms circling his waist.  Gentle kisses to his temple, offering to bathe the kids while Liam starts breakfast.  He imagines holidays on the beach with that stupid dog, his fingers twined with Liam’s while their children dance along the breathy crest of the sea.  He thinks about the moon sinking through the windows of their comfy home while Liam reads bedtime stories and Zayn smiles at him from the doorway.

It’s fucked up, really.  It’ll never happen but his mind wants to tell him otherwise.  It bleeds out and he settles for needing another cigarette rather than thinking about his life being nothing like that silly fantasy.  Nothing at all.

Zayn misses half of what Liam says – something about London and chasing fireflies back home, he thinks – but he smiles and nods along.  He itches for that smoke, toying with the tips of his hair instead.  He bites down on his bottom lip, the sun blinking scarlet in the distance.

Liam inches in a little closer, some poor attempt at getting more comfortable that Zayn wants to wave off.  He smells like cinnamon and vanilla frosting, probably one of those sticky treats from the bakery on the corner.  His hair looks soft, inviting to Zayn’s fingers but he pinches at his own thigh instead.

“You’re really going to Lou’s party?” Liam wonders, eyes gazing off somewhere.

Zayn sinks his teeth in a little further, his index finger dragging over a rough piece of denim.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” Liam asks but he comes off more like he’s _telling_ Zayn.

Zayn shrugs halfheartedly, swallowing a deep breath.  “He’s fine.  Don’t really pay him any mind.”

“’s alright,” Liam laughs out, the sound low and bubbling in his chest.  “Most people don’t.”

“He can be a dick,” Zayn offers, his brow creasing.

Liam nods, nipping at his own lip.  “I don’t think he means to.”

Zayn laughs at that, sharp and quick.  His fingers sink into his hair, his thumb running his hairline.

“Really?”

Liam smiles, nodding shyly.  “He’s a great mate to me.  Honestly.  ‘m glad I’ve got him, you know?”

Zayn does.  Louis’ the one who drug Liam out here for the summer though Liam’s parents weren’t entirely chuffed about the idea of their only son spending his last summer before Uni away from home.  Still, Louis’ convincing in that bratty way that most parents fall for.  He’s also the one that got Liam the job as a lifeguard because Liam’s not very keen on the idea of freeloading off of Louis’ parents’ money for an entire summer.  Liam works hard for everything in life, no questions asked.  He doesn’t do handouts and Zayn admires that, among other things of course.

“He’s still a prick,” Zayn mutters, rolling his shoulders.  “Not that I have a problem with him.”

Liam giggles, punching Zayn’s shoulder lightly.  It’s playful, the way Liam’s laugh sort of dips in the air and runs its course fleetingly.  He feels Liam’s fingers on the back of his neck, tiptoeing lightly.  It unravels Zayn a bit but he’s determined not to show it, leaning into the touch a little while Liam bites down on a small smile.

“’s not his fault, really,” Liam explains, huffing out a sigh.  “’s kind of his parents, honestly.  He’s just a to-do for them, y’know?  Just a little something to show off and, I guess, it has its effects, yeah?  He’s got a good heart.  He can be real sweet.”

Zayn doesn’t imagine Satan is capable of such things but, then again, he didn’t really know Louis like that.

Still, Zayn can see the similarities in Louis and Niall sometimes.  They’re distant, almost unreadable but Zayn catches it in the way they’re both sort of living life to find something sustainable to keep them anchored.  But Zayn doesn’t imagine their lives are that much alike, not in the most definitive way.

“Can’t be that bad,” Zayn says with a shrug, shivering when Liam’s fingers map out the skin of his neck, play along the short hairs on the back of his head.

Liam lifts his shoulders for a careless shrug.  “I guess not.”

“The guy’s got plenty of money to make up for it,” Zayn adds.

“That doesn’t solve much.”

“Seems like it does,” Zayn snorts, nodding in Louis’ direction.  He’s doing sloppy cartwheels and putting on an amusing show for the others with his nose in the air.  He’s a snob in an endearing way.

“His parents are just,” Liam sighs, his shoulders slumping.  “I don’t know.  It’s hard when it’s your best mate, right?”

Zayn nods, blinking at the harsh rays of the scattered sun.  It swoops around Liam, his back to it, and the thumb pressing a little firmer against the side of Zayn’s neck hurts more than the frown on Liam’s face.

Zayn gets it.  It’s never easy when it is your best friend, the one who’s not really themselves around everyone else.  He thinks Louis’ probably like Niall in that aspect – always trying, most times failing.  They’re just victims, all of them, of a life they didn’t really choose.  But Zayn doesn’t think Louis’ that hard up for a change.  His parents either.

“Niall’s like that, you know,” Zayn pushes out, those fingers tracing over the fantail inked high on Zayn’s back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, swallowing another breath.  “He’s just not an asshole about everything, parents or not.”

Because Louis’ parents were the rich type who drug him to country clubs on the weekend, playing golf while discussing political agendas, their wealth, and how fantastic boarding school is for the growth of their children – Zayn thinks it’s a bullshit excuse for them to not be parents, just providers.  Niall’s mum was the kind that drank lager, worked for every pound she put into their ratty flat while swearing loudly and obnoxiously like her life was an R-rated film.

Liam nods, that frown still lingering.  “It’s a bit harder for him.  I mean, he’s never been in any place for long.  His father is one of those business-types that settles in, sets up shop, sells off shares of the company and drags his family to their next home.  I don’t think he’s ever really had a best mate or friends or anything resembling a normal life.”

It makes sense – the way Louis acts.  He’s tough, a bit of an arsehole because he _has_ to be.  Shifting from city to city, never settling in enough for anyone to actually _know_ you can make you that way.  It’s not completely Louis’ fault because being a complete stranger everywhere you go with people whispering about you, never truly getting to know you probably made Louis this way.  Though, Zayn doesn’t believe it’s completely Louis’ parents fault.  He thinks Louis’ probably naturally a bit stuck up, full of himself, not that Zayn seems to mind.  Not as much as Niall does.

“I can see that,” Zayn says with a mild shrug, biting down on his lower lip while Liam shoots him a surprised look.  Zayn waves it off, flicking his eyes away from those unsettlingly beautiful brown eyes.  “Niall’s the same way.  Don’t think he ever got over his mum dragging him from Ireland here.”

Zayn smiles to himself because Niall truly is a nice chap.  He’s friendly with almost everyone and, while that seems like an easy target for someone to take advantage of, Zayn knows that most people know not to screw Niall over.  He’s nice, but he’s far from a pushover and he’s not too kind to throttle someone’s face if they fuck with him.  Or his mates.

Zayn thinks it’s one of the truly brilliant things about Niall.

The conversations drift away from there.  Zayn’s managed to slide a cigarette behind his ear, thinking twice about smoking it because Liam’s not really a fan.  Since when did he start doing things because Liam liked or didn’t like them?  Fuck, this kid has ruined every bitter taste of this summer like a tall bottle of vodka.

He listens while Liam goes on about surfing with Louis – he’s unsurprisingly better at it than Louis – and laughs when Liam tells a story about Louis nearly drowning in a particularly high wave he thought he could coast in on.  Liam talks about his desire to be a fireman, maybe work in an airplane factory back home.  He’s thought about skipping Uni but thinks he wouldn’t mind being a junior school teacher because he likes working with young kids.  Zayn imagines Liam covered in finger paints, his hair mussed with a bright grin and sparkling eyes.  It cripples him for a moment but then he’s nodding along, chatting about his own want to teach English.

They fall into laughs, little talks about music, the beach, Zayn’s fear of swimming – Liam offers again to teach him; Zayn doesn’t decline though he smiles awkwardly – and their friends back home.  It feels warming.  Everything hums like the chords of that great 90s music he’d listen to in the back of his mum’s old jeep – _Damn, I wish I was your lover. I’d rock you ‘til the daylight comes; made sure you are smiling and warm_.  Liam’s hand feels hot against his shoulder, his own fingers unconsciously stroking over Liam’s thigh until they sort of fit like this – comfortable and secure.

“So the party,” Liam starts, his smirk high on those cheeks.

Zayn wants to kiss him.  No, wait, he just wants to _remember_ him.  He doesn’t think that’ll be hard.

“You seem excited about it,” Zayn states, a little bit uninterested.

Liam nods quickly, smiling harder.  “It’s the last of the summer.  The _big_ one.”

Zayn wants to tell Liam there’ll be much more exciting things later on in life.  Fuck, there’ll be more interesting things when he starts Uni – he doesn’t know where, hasn’t bothered to ask Liam because the thought alone of the distance is numbing – be he doesn’t.

“It’s a party,” Zayn says flatly, wincing a little when Liam’s expression dulls a bit.  He didn’t mean for it to sound that way but, yeah, it is just a party.  The last one.  His last moment with Liam, fuck.

“Well,” Liam sighs, leaning away a little.  It aches when Liam’s hand drops away, suddenly too cold even though the sun is still bathing them.  “It’s my last chance.”

“Last chance,” Zayn repeats, the words heavy on his tongue.  Last chance for _what_?  Them?  Fuck, he should probably light up that cigarette now – Liam or not.

Liam nods slowly, something resembling a smile returning to his lips.  “My last chance to make things work with Dani.”

Zayn doesn’t sink, not outwardly.  He draws back some, fussing with his shirt, puling it closed before opening it again.  He gnaws on his lip and reminds himself that the stars never really looked down on him favorably.

He knows about them – Liam and Danielle.  He’s never really gave it much thought, the way they would walk the beach holding hands at the beginning of the summer.  The way he saw Lim dancing with her at a few parties or looking at her like she was the heavens and he was a sinner begging for forgiveness.  He’s heard the whispers that they were together – or just fucking, he can’t tell – but it didn’t last long.  A month?  Less?  And maybe he should’ve known that one week Liam looked completely ruined and hopeless from that lifeguard stand but Zayn was in his own haze of senselessness.  And why give two fucks if Zayn was never going to have this gorgeous chap to himself?

He didn’t expect for Liam to still want her or that one-sided relationship where it seemed Danielle was more interested in showing off the fact that she bagged Liam rather than actually adoring every little piece of him.  Not that she was completely heartless, but she had that air about herself.  She’s a bit older, more versed in the ways of living and letting go.  A dancer from a few cities away with her lavish wardrobe, unruly curls that fanned in the wind, a gloss to her lips and a tinge of honey to her skin.  She didn’t have many friends, not that she attempted to but enough of the town knew her.

“You want her back?” Zayn asks.  He’s not choking on the words, barely.

Liam nods sharply.  “Why not.”

 _Because she won’t ever love you_ , Zayn thinks, biting on the tip of his tongue before the words reach his lips.

“But you’re headed back home.”

“You don’t think long distance relationships are sort of romantic?” Liam laughs out, his fingers stroking up Zayn’s forearm.

 _If you’re in a fucking romantic comedy_ , Zayn says to himself, curling in closer to Liam again.

“I don’t know,” Zayn says with a shrug, watching the way their feet kick at the small rocks.  “Never gave it much thought.”

It’s a lie.  He’s thought about it – he and Liam.  Cities apart, hearts still connected.  Weekends in the Midlands, Liam visiting him in Durham.  It’s rolled around in his head, kisses from a train station with their hands clasped together.  Chats about falling in love under a summer sun with the sand between their toes.

Fuck, he’s the worst kind of trainwreck because of Liam Payne.

“I think it could work,” Liam insists.

Zayn nods, his lips pressed tightly together.  The sun is coasting over the stretch of water, chased away by the stars that are threatening to light up the sky.  He turns his palm over when Liam’s fingers reach his wrist, waiting patiently until Liam’s fingers dip down and settle against his skin.

“I suppose,” Zayn whispers, the dread thickening his voice.

“I think I can convince her,” Liam adds, an almost smug grin touches his lips.

Zayn wants to tell him if you have to convince someone to love you, it’s not love.  He doesn’t think Liam would even have to piece together an argument for Zayn.  He’d do it without hesitation.

“Best of luck,” Zayn laughs out, the sound sharp and a little painful.  He stares at the ocean, the water dark and restless for a few seconds before its calm and serene.  He wishes his heart would move in the same pattern.

“Don’t need it,” Liam says with a chuckle, bumping shoulders with Zayn.  “I’m Liam.”

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn snickers out, nodding.  He kicks at Liam’s foot, breathless with laughter and the smile on Liam’s face.

Liam’s close enough now that Zayn thinks he can smell the salt from the water underneath that layer of cinnamon and sweet.  It’s how he wants to remember Liam with his cheeks rounded, lips tipped up high, brown eyes crinkled at the corners.  He wants to remember Liam setting his world on fire, everything melting away.

“Think we should join the others,” Liam suggests, jerking his head toward the roughed up beach.

Zayn can hear Niall calling for them in the distance, laughter and silly songs being sung against the crash of another wave – _And I would walk five hundred miles. And I would walk five hundred more._   He doesn’t lift his eyes from Liam, a billion lights danced upon his face with that warm smile.

“’m gonna,” Zayn says, holding up his cigarette for Liam before slipping it between his lips.  “Be there in a min, yeah?”

Liam nods, standing, dusting himself off.  He gives Zayn a considering look, lips moving sideways.  “You should quit.”

 _I should quit you_ , Zayn thinks, sighing.  He nods at Liam, striking the flame of his lighter.  “One day, yeah?”

Liam nods back, his hands sliding into the pockets of his shorts.  He rocks back on his heels looking impossibly young and innocent.  There’s a sheepish smile on his lips, his teeth nipping at the corner.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Zayn smiles back, taking in his first drag.  It’s refreshing, ebbing out the poison of this feeling deep inside of him.

He wants Liam to stay.  He wants this flame in his heart to die out.

“Save you a beer?” Liam offers with a tight grin, kicking at the toe of Zayn’s already scuffed Converse.

Zayn snorts, his head tipping back for a sharp laugh.  He curls the smoke around him, blows it out slowly from his lips.  “Definitely.”

“I’ll just be,” Liam jerks a thumb toward the beach, everything about him sweet and endearing, “right down there.  Waiting on you.”

“Just me?” Zayn asks, sucking in another deep breath of smoke.  He loves the way Liam looks unsettled, nervous.

“Fucker,” Liam says with a smirk.

Zayn shrugs carelessly, smiling back.  “’m just, you know, making note.”

“I’m not gonna miss you when you’re gone, you know that?”

“’s a shame,” Zayn retorts, letting the cigarette dangle between his lips.  He doesn’t finish the rest, doesn’t tell Liam he’s going to miss him incredibly.

He feels like an idiot but Liam’s still smiling down at him like his last words didn’t really mean anything.  Like he was just teasing Zayn because, yeah, he feels the same way too.  Maybe he does.  Maybe Zayn wishes it because Liam’s going after Danielle, after some long lost hope of a tired summer falling away into the wasteland – _But I can see you: Your brown skin shining in the sun. You got your hair combed back and those sunglasses on baby. I can tell you my love for you will still be strong after the boys of summer have gone._

Liam doesn’t say anything else, kicking at the rocks but Zayn knows what he’s trying to say with his eyes.  He expects Zayn to follow him, wants him there.  He knows Liam sort of hangs off of him in the way Niall kind of does.  He’s not really a lifeline but he thinks maybe it’s because Liam’s more at ease with Zayn than anyone else.  He’s more _Liam_ , if that makes any sense.  It’s refreshing, silky over the flesh of Zayn’s heart.

“’m coming in just a sec,” Zayn promises, huffing in another drag, flicking away the ash from the tip.

Liam nods quickly, biting down on a gleaming smile.  He turns away, a quick glance over his shoulder at Zayn that Zayn shudders with.  Those eyes hold him – Liam’s not begging but he’s invested enough in this friendship to trust Zayn – and then Liam’s disappearing along the stretch of the road, into the sand and carving his name into the heat of the dead summer sun.

**

The dust of the night is rolling up high into the purple sky, faded pinks and oranges still chasing away the stars.  They’ve made a bonfire somewhere far off from the view of wandering eyes, trying to hide it from the beach patrol – Zayn’ still not certain why they even bother when really it’s just the nosey neighbors complaining about kids having a good time that watch out for them.  The fire roars bright orange with flickers of red from a rusted, old bin.  There’s driftwood, broken down pieces of old trees used for seats, a few of the group settling down into the sand with their heads tipped back to the sky like it’s a museum of pictures.

They sip out of slurpee cups filled with flat soda and some cheap alcohol Max supplied them with.  There’s a few beers passed around – mainly Coronas without the lime, a few orange-flavored lagers that Zayn hates – while the wind rustles down across the ocean.  Niall’s toying with an acoustic guitar Josh brought down, Phoebe to his left and Eleanor to his right.  Louis’ holding his hands over the fire, catching the heat while chatting with Max and some young chap named Joe whose too young for the beer he’s sipping on, giggling like a rookie.  There’s a drifting of songs sung – _I belong with you, you belong with me in my sweet heart_ – while Liam and Josh play footie a few feet away.

Liam’s amazing with his tricks, the way he can do keepie-uppies for minutes without missing a beat.  He’s immensely better than Josh and Zayn figures he could probably challenge Louis and Niall when it comes to skill, though Louis’ is a little more fancy while Niall’s is a bit of a natural.  He bounces the ball off of his head in Josh’s direction, smiling up at the sky for a moment before giving Zayn a subtle grin, rubbing at his neck.  Zayn nods at him as a small form of acknowledgment, sipping on his Corona while the stars blink dimly above them.

The sweet scent of the night’s air swells around him – _I’ve been dreaming of things yet to come. Living, learning, watching, burning. Eyes on the sun_ – as he sips at his beer.  He catches the way Greg stumbles up to join Liam and Josh’s game, Phoebe leaning a head on Niall’s shoulder while Niall stares at Eleanor.  Louis’ oblivious to it all, Eleanor too, but Cher quirks an eyebrow when she settles down into the sand next to Jade, biting down on her lower lip.  Niall looks away almost comically, humming to another song while Zayn swallows down a laugh.

His breath fills out with hollowed breaths, watching the way Liam dances in the sand while chasing the ball – _Bright lights, big city. He lives to run._   His teeth drag along his bottom lip, swirling his beer that’s now a little sour on his tongue.  He thinks about nicking Phoebe’s cup of whatever alcohol they’re sipping slowly on, using it to burn down the way his heart pulses against his chest.  Liam’s tipped back head, wavering in the quiet of the night, the fire crackling loud enough to drown out Liam’s laughter when Greg drunkenly misses the ball.

Eleanor drifts off, Niall watching her move down the shore with Cher by her side.  Louis settles down just enough from Niall that they don’t have to share heated glares long because they kind of openly hate each other when it’s convenient for both of them.  It’s daft and childish but he doesn’t imagine either one of them caring.  He shoulders it off – _Time to live, time to love_ – while Liam scurries up to them, swinging his arms around Zayn’s midsection with a breathy laugh that dampens the skin of Zayn’s neck.

He’s warm, too fucking warm, and the fire’s not helping.

Zayn lets Liam settle there for a while, the laughter dying off but Liam’s grip on him never loosening.  Liam’s chin is resting on his shoulder, fingers interlocked over Zayn’s stomach, the sand pushing at their bare feet.  He’s listening to Niall’s soft voice – well, he’s _trying_ to but it’s hard to over the sound of his own ragged breathing – while Liam rocks side to side to the melody.  He offers Liam his beer, something Liam declines immediately and they smile shyly at each other.

“You smell like smoke,” Liam mutters, eyebrows shifting.

“You smell like the water,” Zayn says back, making a face.  “Fucking ocean.”

“You’ll love it one day,” Liam declares, a dopey grin on his lips.

Zayn snorts, shaking his head.  He doubts it.  He won’t love it like he thinks he’ll love Liam one day.

Shit, he needs to get away – _Bright lights, big city. She dreams of love._

“Well, fuck me,” Louis breathes out, his voice startling Zayn from the way Liam’s swallowing him in those arms, drowning him with smiles and crinkled eyes.

It’s a little off in the distance, the way they’re moving closer but staying along the edge of the water as they walk.  Zayn doesn’t really pay any mind to Nathan – the kid is rather dishy with his nice features, a hardness to his face that goes soft when he laughs – but he can spot what Louis has his eyes trained on: Harry Styles.

Harry’s sort of been a mystery since that third week into the summer, crashing the town with his soft curls, big green eyes, dimpled smile that rivals his youthful face and fit body.  He’s got a scattering of tattoos that just keeps growing, wears fedoras and walks around bare foot more often than not.  He likes tight jeans, old band t-shirts and he’s rather proud of this hipster vibe that glows off of him.  He doesn’t say much but when he does, he drags his words out with a thick, deep voice that sounds older than Harry looks.

The guy doesn’t really fit himself into any particular group, strays from most of them but he’s pretty popular and for all of the wrong reasons.  The first person he hooked up with was some petite girl named Heather, who he snogged at one of Louis’ parties.  Two hours later, Zayn saw the guy tonguing down Joe behind the house.  He’s heard Harry might’ve shagged Jesy, possibly Cher too.  He knows Aiden’s blown the guy down on the beach – something Max may or may not have hated Harry for – and Zayn’s kind of certain Harry’s snogged Nick on more than a few occasions.  But Harry doesn’t fall for all of the lines sent his way – he’s choosy.  He doesn’t seem to like anyone making the first move besides himself, some sort of wicked game he plays until he gets what he wants.

Zayn has yet to see the guy fail in his mission.

“I mean,” Louis swallows, his voice dropping down some, “I’d fuck him.  More than once.”

Liam shudders, making a gagging noise while Phoebe shifts an eyebrow upward.  Louis shrugs them off, eyeing the way Harry’s slender form looks bathed by the creeping light of the moon.  He’s wearing one of those stupid snapbacks that Zayn knows Niall loves, whispering into Nathan’s ear until the shorter boy is blushing and nodding shyly.

Game.  Set.  Match.

Zayn catches the way Niall’s tongue runs over his lips, blue eyes darker while they gaze on the way Harry’s jeans cling to his thighs.  He’s admiring the way his feet shift in the wet sand, even more tattoos around his ankles with the cuff of his jeans rolled up.  He’s hollowing out breaths, not singing as much as he’s just going through the motions now.  Zayn wonders when he missed it – Niall’s kind of infatuated with the kid who’s younger than Liam but not half as naïve – but it’s sticky like really good weed is at the back of your throat.  He smiles to himself, Liam slipping away to chat with Josh and Max.

The cold shifts around him, everything prickly and present when Niall gives him a look.  They nod at each other – they already know.  Zayn shifts closer to the fire while Niall chases the end of a song Phoebe’s singing – _Open your heart to me, baby. I’ll hold the lock and you hold the key. Open your heart to me, darling. I’ll give you love if you, you turn the key_ – and he knows they’ll probably talk about it later.  He kind of dreads it, wishing for a cigarette and a long sip of something that’ll burn his throat, leave him raw.

“Just, _fuck_ ,” Louis hisses lowly, digging his fingers into the sand when Harry and Nathan pass shyly by, never looking over at them but Zayn can tell they know everyone’s sort of watching.

Zayn leans back, the scent of a roaring fire and the sea speaking to them calming him just enough that he doesn’t mind the way Liam looks content laughing at Josh, their arms folded around each other’s shoulders.  He drains the last of his beer, ditching the glass bottle into the sand.  He pats his pockets, finds his pack of smokes and he knows he’ll have to drift down the beach to smoke.  He doesn’t mind.  It shakes his mind off of Liam, the way Louis’ watching Harry like he’s on the hunt for his next prey, or the way he knows this summer has already run its course.

The dance of August air hits him and he treads lightly on the sand, taking his first drag but never really tasting it.  He glances over his shoulder, finds Liam’s eyes on him and it all feels fucked up.  How do you fall for someone that quickly?  How do you chase a dream that won’t come true?  How do you hate a girl for having what you want?

He sucks down another gulp of smoke, digging his toes into the sand from his spot near the ocean.  He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back.  He knows Liam’s somewhere far off, probably watching him like he cares where Zayn’s thoughts have drifted off to.  And he hates that.  He hates that he’s going to miss Liam when this is all over.

He hates that Niall drug him to this stupid town where he wants to stay, building a life and a love with some idiot lifeguard who just wants to enjoy every breath of life.

**

It’s a slow, gingerly crawl toward Louis’ beach house.  The August air has a thickness that thrives closer to the sea, the dampness on just the right side of humidity that they can bare.  The sun has dusted off the streets, hollowed out the sky until it’s just a round purple now with specks of stars doing their pirouettes across the darkness until they’re just blinking diamonds too far off to enjoy.  The moon is a pinwheel of soft white and hints of blue, slicking the back streets that Niall and Zayn stroll down where the street lamps are a dull orange and cottony ivory.  They stray as far from the main neighborhoods as possible, never wishing to draw too much attention from the pleasant families who are probably finishing up a nice dessert with the telly on one of those late broadcasts of a talk show or some stupid game show.  They sip on a shared cup of some icy, fruity, sweet drink that’s doused in vodka – a creation Niall concocted after a quick stop at a petrol station when Zayn needed a new pack of cigs – and Niall’s taking liberal gulps of some cheap, canned beer that Zayn makes a face at because, fuck, there’ll be plenty of beer at Louis’ party, he knows.

Still, Niall’s the type that likes a nice, sharp buzz before one of these things and Zayn doesn’t knock him for it.  Dealing with some of these mundane, rich’d up fucks can be quite droll.  He prefers the sweet buzz of some of that great weed he can bum off of Tom, maybe even Nick, that sticks to his lungs while he inhales these insipid Uni kids for a couple of hours.  He’s too lazy to hunt one of them down tonight and he’s pretty sure he wants to be as close to sober as he can be tonight.  He really doesn’t feel like waking up to some nameless girl – or clingy bloke – right before he’s heading back to Durham.

Niall’s ditched neon-glowing green sunglasses for a sensible pair tonight, ones that sit up on his nose quite stupidly with his fluffy sun-bleached hair fucked out by the waves and sea water.  He smells like cheap pub food, a hint of wavering cologne he nicked off of Aiden, a peppering of sand and summer life.  His tank top hangs off of him like a ripped up flag, jeans low on his hips and his high top trainers are scuffing all along the roads as they walk.  He’s the kind of guy who looks like he got dressed in the dark, dancing around the room to some brilliant 90s grunge rock – _Please tell me why my car is in your front yard and I’m sleeping with my clothes on. I came in through the window last night and you’re gone._ He’s sinfully happy about it all, chasing alcohol with beer like it’s all going to help.

“Think she’ll be there?” Niall asks after a particularly healthy gulp of beer and Zayn’s shocked he hasn’t completely drained the can yet.

“Which one?” Zayn laughs out, the iciness of the drink chilling his lips.  He runs his tongue over them, shivering before smirking at Niall.

Niall snatches the drink back, nearly choking on it for a large sip.  “El.”

“El?” Zayn hums, rubbing his fingers at his chin.  The scruff is nice today, light and prickly sharp.

He may have given extra attention to grooming himself today.  Not for the stupid fucks like Andy or Greg or even Max and Jordan.  Not really for Phoebe or Cher, though he’s kind of certain they’ll appreciate it.  No, he tries to tell himself that he wears this silly black t-shirt with the nice dark jeans and trainers for himself but, fuck, he just _can’t_.  He can’t convince himself that his tall quiff, dark and sticky with product, is for the last impression any of these shits will have of him.

He gives up pretense for just a moment because it’s not their last impression he gives two fucks about.

It’s Liam’s.

Yeah, he’s doing all of this for Liam; Danielle be damned – _It’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me._

“Yes, Eleanor,” Niall sighs, another quick sip of beer leaving him a little off center with his walk.  “Maybe Cher?”

“Maybe Cher,” Zayn repeats lowly, lips drawing up high with a snicker.

Niall nods quickly, slowly drinking down a little more of that icy drink.  His lips are stained cherry red, the corners of his mouth pushed up.  “Josh too.”

“Whore,” Zayn giggles out, punching lightly at Niall’s arm.  The crisp heat of the night leaves Zayn’s skin sticking to Niall’s, a sickly feeling before he’s drawing back.

“Dick.”

“That’s Lou,” Zayn reminds him and Niall gives him a thoughtful look like some amazing piece of information has been laid on him.

Niall nods slowly, pushing at those silly sunglasses, pulling on the snapback that’s been resting in the back of his trousers like he’s one of those wickedly gangster rappers from MTV.  He’s not.  He’s fucking Niall, all Irish brilliance and the kind of sick sense of humor Zayn can’t live without.  Still, he tries miserably to be anything but.

“’m not gonna miss that fucker,” Niall declares, drinking down the last of the frozen drink a little too fast.  He hisses loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose while tossing the cup away.  It cracks, clinks against the ground while rolling away through some dark side street.  The brain freeze looks painful and Zayn’s really not trying his best to hold back a laugh but Niall’s too caught up in the pain to deck Zayn.  He’d probably miss anyway.

“You do remember he goes to our school, yeah?” Zayn reminds him, skidding the toe of his trainer across the ground, kicking at stray rocks.

“Fuck.”

Zayn nods heartily, slipping a cigarette between his lips.  He cups the flame with his hand, the tip glowing bright orange while the wind slips sickly over their skin.  It’s not chilling, not like he knows it’ll be back in Durham come September but it’s not insanely uncomfortable with heat either so he doesn’t bother to complain.

“He needs to let laid,” Niall drags out, downing the last of his beer before crunching up the can in his hands.

Zayn’s certain Niall makes the perfect Uni bloke with his beer-drinking, lack of care for studies – not that Niall isn’t quite brilliant and usually passes all of his classes – and fondness for ditching education for pretty girls or sensible chaps.  It strikes him that Niall is stereotypical and not at the same time with his cheerfulness and neatly spun life of making everything a happy ending.

“He does,” Zayn says offhandedly, exhaling his first wave of smoke.  It tastes thick against the alcohol still on his tongue but he likes it.  It’s distracting.

“Yeah.”

Zayn gives him a small nod, flicking his eyes up to where the stars attempt to leapfrog the rolling blue clouds in the sky.  “The little shit gets around.”

“He does,” Niall says in a small voice like it’s a little piece of useless information.  Well, it is but they really don’t have much else to talk about.

“He’s such a fucking tosser.”

“Think El minds?” Zayn asks.  He doesn’t really want an answer but that sort of awkward silence that mixes with a little too much to drink is not a comfortable state for him.  It leaves him a little mental.

Niall shrugs, grinning.  “I could take her mind off of it.”

Zayn snorts, reaching out to pat at Niall’s head.  “Of course you could.”

“Maybe she’d have a threesome with me and that Styles kid.”

Zayn rolls his eyes promptly, following Niall down another side street.  “I heard he likes orgies.”

“Brilliant,” Niall says with a bubbling chuckle.  “Means I can invite Cher along too.”

“You’d let him shag you?”

“I’d let him _blow me_ ,” Niall contends, pushing up his sunglasses to waggle his eyebrows.  “Then I’d fuck him while Cher and Eleanor went to town on each other.”

Zayn’s eyebrows lift high, kissing at his hairline with large eyes.  He doesn’t want to ask if, possibly, Niall’s already crafted out a brilliant scheme to make all of this happen.  He imagines his best mate probably has.  Niall’s quite mad like that and Zayn’s learned a long time ago not to ask Niall about things that run through his mind.

“You’re sick, mate,” Zayn says with a tipping grin.

Niall nods happily like he’s okay with it.  Zayn thinks they both are.

They don’t mind the walk to Louis’, most nights.  They prefer the dance through the streets, the one that usually has Zayn puffing through three cigarettes while Niall air drums though the neighborhoods like he’s an aspiring band member – he thinks Niall favors the drums a little more because of Josh but Zayn’s sorted that the idea of his mate and Josh ever acting on this stupid teenage crush is probably not likely.  They battle through meaningless conversations about nothing at all with smiles and a comforting bond that’s been long established through nights of Uni and days of finding their way through life.

“Gonna have a chat with Liam?” Niall asks suddenly, his steps a little sideways and off.

Zayn stutters in his own walk, sucking in a deep breath of nicotine.  It waves through the air, a thick cloud of gray smoke that Zayn hopes does enough to shield his face.  It doesn’t.

Niall’s already grinning at him, one of those shit-eating ones that he’s seen Louis wear more than Niall ever has.

“No.”

“Liar,” Niall says, barking out a laugh.  “You _have_ to.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Zayn doesn’t really have an answer for that.  He takes another drag, flicking away the ashes, tracing his eyes over the outline of a bird inked on the back of his hand.  He looks at dead grass peeking through cracks in the sidewalk, listens for the distant sound of the ocean kissing against the shore.  They’re pretty close now and Zayn’s thankful for it.

“What for?” Zayn wonders, hollowing his cheeks on another pull.

“Because you love him,” Niall offers, elbowing Zayn playfully.

“You’re fucked,” Zayn says, attempting a playful laugh that comes out choked and uneven.  He hopes Niall can’t see the blush sinking into his cheeks.

“No, you are if you don’t just man up and tell the guy how you feel,” Niall warns, his voice suddenly a little too serious.  He waits until Zayn looks up at him before continuing, “And he’s a good guy.  He’s nice which you and I both know is impossible to come by these days.  He acts like you’re the fucking center of the universe and, fuck, you two get on really well.”

Zayn’s lips push sideways on his face like he’s contemplating Niall’s words.  He’s really not.  He knows why he should tell Liam everything.  He knows why he should just tell everyone else to sod off, shake Liam until he forgets about that ridiculous thing he has with Danielle because Zayn is worth a try.  Well, he thinks he is.  But none of that seems like a good enough excuse to fuck up his last night in this summer haze because Liam just might not feel the same way.

No, Liam will probably laugh at him, pretend like Zayn’s joking with him, and brush it off.

Zayn’s not a fan of rejection.  Especially not from insanely fit guys who smile like the warm breath of day glow when the sun’s peaking in the sky.

“You’re mental,” Zayn finally says as if it’s a proper response to everything Niall’s said.

Niall folds his arms, shaking his head.  “Chicken shit.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn says with a sharp laugh.  It’s not malicious or cruel but he thinks it’s enough to shut Niall up.

“I thought it was a bloody fantastic idea,” Niall says quietly.

Zayn wants to remind Niall of the time he thought mixing vodka, whiskey, three Twix bars and a large order from Nando’s was a fantastic idea one night.  It was a truly _awful_ idea and Zayn’s certain Niall’s lime green trainers never forgave him for throwing up on them.

“The summer’s over Ni,” Zayn says with a dragging sigh, fingering pieces of his hair while taking a quick puff of his cigarette.  He lets the smoke roll around in his mouth, drying it out before exhaling.  “There’s no point.”

“There’s always a point,” Niall says sagely, something neon and glowing about his tone.  How he can go from two steps from being completely hammered to a fucking guru, Zayn will never understand.  But that was Niall.

Zayn wishes he was as buzzed as Niall, tiptoeing the edge of pleasantly comfortable and falling away from reality.  He sucks in a deep breath of ocean air, following Niall up that deep climb of a hill that’s Louis’ driveway.  They let the conversation die off, rustling into the silence until it’s awkward for just a moment before Niall’s grinning at him, hooking an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and dragging him up the drive.

He can already hear the music – in fact, he heard it two streets back but didn’t really care – and there’s a littering of people sinking in through the front door while others linger around at the bottom of the car park.  He doesn’t wave at any of them but Niall greets every single one like it’s a fucking reunion or something.  Zayn’s certain they’d just seen most of them a few hours earlier at the beach, each of them shitfaced on their own perception of themselves.

He really doesn’t think he’s going to miss this town or the freak show that throbs throughout it.

Max and Aiden slip inside ahead of them, Phoebe greeting them lazily at the door like some sort of hostess while passing out red plastic cups that are probably filled with that heady liquor that Louis always has at his parties.  He wonders tonight if it’ll be more top shelf stuff or just something cheap that comes in a plastic bottle that always leaves you with an unbearable headache the next day.  Maybe they’ll do rounds of Everclear – Zayn thinks anything that strong is never good for this crowd – or settle for something simple like dark rum and liters of Coke.

He hangs back for a moment, sniffing at the air while taking another haul off of his cigarette.  It calms him for just a moment, his thoughts drifting, the wake of concern building in him falling face first into the ground.  Niall leans on the railing of the front deck, eyeing him while Zayn shrugs nonchalantly.

“You coming?”

Zayn nods, holding up his cigarette.  It’s on its last few puffs but he’s dragging it out.  His fingers twitch, his heart somewhere near his throat, and there’s a fading stir from the alcohol in his chest.  He’s never like this before one of these parties but maybe it really is sinking in.  This is it.  Summer is taking its final bow with a round of applause and a sick feeling in his stomach.

This place, these faces, his outstretched arms to the sun are all about to flicker out like his cigarette.

He takes another drag, the ash dancing off the end.  “Me mum taught me some manners.”

Niall rolls his eyes, giving him a teasing shove.  “Fuck right she did.”

“Besides, what’s the rush?” Zayn snorts, huffing out the smoke.  He doesn’t think he even enjoyed that inhale but he pretends for the sake of continuity.  “Got all night, right?”

Niall shrugs, his smirk brightening those solid blue eyes.  “Don’t know.”

“El?”

“And Cher,” Niall replies with a quick laugh.  “And foursomes and blowjobs and, fuck, the best night ever.”

“And Josh?”

Niall shrugs again, this one a little more careless.  “Maybe Styles.”

“And Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn says with a laugh, one last breath of smoke sitting deep in his chest until it burns off this heavy feeling.  He curls lips his lips let it out, stubbing out his cigarette on the railing.  The music crushes against his ears – _I don’t wanna waste my time; become another casualty of society. I’ll never fall in line; become another victim of your conformity. Back down_ – while Niall makes a face.

“Definitely not.”

“Of course not,” Zayn says with a smirk, his cheeks lifting.  He tosses a careful arm around Niall’s shoulders, dragging him towards the door.  “We can dunk his pretty little hair into a toilet if you want.”

Niall smiles brightly, wiggling his eyebrows while easing an arm around Zayn’s back.

“Bloody fantastic idea.”

“Damn right,” Zayn huffs out with a smile, biting down on his lower lip.

They stumble right behind Perrie and Jade, Zayn watching the way the two are already flushed cheeks, holding hands, whispering to each other as they push through the door.  They’re sundresses – Jade a whored-out version of Minnie Mouse while Perrie tries mockingly to look punk rock and failing – with beach-ridden wavy hair.  Phoebe passes them all cups, looking two drinks from being a wreck, with grins and loud greetings.  Zayn doesn’t bother to say anything over the music – _Don’t count of me, it’s the point you’re missing. Don’t count on me ‘cause I’m not listening_ – but he gives her a small nod with a large grin, Niall patting her shoulder while downing his cup of something strangely rank, green, and strong as they push through the crowd.

“No regrets,” Niall says a little dreamily once he tosses his cup to the side, not really caring for where it lands.

Zayn bites a little harder on his lip, trying to sway through the mass of dancing bodies, drunken stumbles, the roundabout of Uni kids trying to make it all last.

“No regrets,” he repeats a little lower, sipping at his drink until the acidy taste doesn’t burn on the tip of his tongue.

He’s letting Niall lead him and, frankly, he knows that’s a stupid idea but he’s thinking _why not_?  Tonight, why the fuck not?

**

The party is a little thicker than usual with kids burning off some forgotten high of humid days and electric nights.  It quakes from the walls like a livewire that burns the fingertips, the way the music crackles and the booze shifts from cup to cup like chain smoking in the dark.  There’s masses spread out all over the rooms, from the foyer to the twin living areas on opposite sides of the house.  The dining area is heaped on by games of quarters, beer pong taking up most of the space leading into the kitchen and they’re not really sure what’s happening upstairs but the way people climb them in twos yet return alone reminds Zayn of those drunken parties in Year Eleven where love bites seemed secondary to the Walk of Shame most of his classmates made after a few hours of sipping on warm cherry vodka.

Zayn hates admitting it but he’s still massively impressed by Louis’ parents’ beach house.  Incredibly so.  It’s the kind of house you see being showcased on one of those fancy network programs about rich people and their estates.  He figures it’s the kind of place that looks vacant and lifeless when not set afire by the mass of University students that usually crowd the halls, suffocate the atmosphere, and drape themselves over every piece of furniture but he still likes the ambiance.

It’s one of those two level mazes with its twin living areas on opposite ends of the house, decorated in fine art, glass coffee tables, round couches and fluffy settees.  There’s a long stretch of hall from the foyer into the first room, family pictures lining the walls looking pristine and almost put-on for show.  The dining area is cluttered in vases of flowers and a fancy round table that’s all cherry wood and gloss.  The kitchen is built for a chef to create masterpieces in – though it’s usually scattered with beer kegs or someone drunken kid mixing together awful drinks that leave you stumbling around for a couple of hours – while the staircase leading upwards is all wide steps made of hardwood with a thin banister made of some cheap metallic substance to give it that current art deco sort of style that Zayn hates.  He’s fonder of something a little more homely, dressed up in that feeling like someone actually _lives_ there.  This place is nothing like that.

There’s a few rooms upstairs, a small viewing room, and a loo that’s big enough to house a hot tub though it doesn’t.  Once again, it’s all for show.  There’s a deck right off the dining area that’s large enough to accommodate at least ten people – usually there’s more than that, all sweaty bodies, plastic cups, and cigarette smoke mixed with that pungent hint of cheap, poorly rolled weed.  The view from the deck is nice though – a long stretch of the beach that’s mostly lit up by the beckoning light of the moon, the sand a nice silver hue with the water a dancing parade of dark blues and rumbling black.  Zayn can see it all from the impossibly tall windows that substitute for walls by the dining area, the fluorescent light of night bouncing off the reflections.  He usually waits until it’s a little less crowded outside, somewhere between the Katy Perry thrumming through one of the rooms and the clatter-clash of Artic Monkeys from another.

Niall’s drug him off to the living area on the far side of the house, a sweeping of greetings he doesn’t remember and he thinks those first two shots of vodka he’s had were a little stiffer than he’s used to.  He remembers passing Jordan, eyeing the way he was chatting up Jesy like he has half a chance.  Calum is like that weird kid from old 80’s films who dances on top of the tables with one of Louis’ father’s ties wrapped around his head like a bandana, the contents of his cup spilling out as he howls along to the music.  Phoebe’s stretched across one of the couches, head in Cher’s lap while they share Jell-O shots out of little plastic containers – a giggly mess of solidarity.  There’s quite a few others Zayn doesn’t really know, probably doesn’t care to recognize because that would take a tremendous amount of effort he’s not really determined to put up right now.

He tries not to think about the fact that he hasn’t seen Liam yet, though they’ve only been there about fifteen minutes.  He sits on the arm of a couch, swirling around some red drink that tastes like fruit punch and gin – a sour taste thick at the back of his throat that sort of burns – and pretends that he’s interested in some silly story Luke is telling while Niall chats up Eleanor in a corner of the poorly lit room.  Maybe he’s watching everyone who stumbles into the room, hoping for large brown eyes, a kicked up grin that pushes painfully against round cheeks, that nice curve of a jaw that he wants to pet his fingers along.  He snorts to himself, missing half of Luke’s tale about a shark or maybe he’s talking about some girl he wants to screw in the loo, sipping on his drink until things start to feel a bit numb and unimportant.

Zayn slides down next to Phoebe, her feet in his lap, sighing quietly beneath the throb of the music – _I could lift you up. I could show what you wanna see and take you where you wanna be._ He nicks a beer from between Phoebe’s dainty fingers, chugging back a few gulps while watching Eleanor giggle at Niall, hand to his chest with a ruddy stain to Niall’s cheeks.  He smiles a little too proudly, tipping his head back when Niall slides those stupid sunglasses back on, fidgeting with his snapback like he’s nervous about it all.

Yeah, Niall’s all talk about things like this and Zayn finds it genuinely adorable.  He looks fourteen trying to ask out his first crush and, fuck, Zayn wants to rescue him before he mucks it all up.

Phoebe’s giggling into Cher’s hand, Cher twirling her fingers through her hair while actively ignoring those lustful glares she’s getting from Michael across the room – he’s really not her type with his white-blonde hair, piercings, over-the-top rock and roll demeanor like he’s trying just a little too hard.  He shifts back into the cushions, eyeing Perrie and Jade when they tumble in, arms around each other with half of Perrie’s lipstick smudged over those small lips.  He arches an eyebrow, watching the way their fingers are still tangled and there’s a faint pinkish bruise along Jade’s collar – _You could be my luck. Even if the sky is falling down, I know that we’ll be safe and sound._

“Coasters for fuck’s sake,” Louis shrieks, yanking up a couple of sweaty beer bottles that leave behind water stains along one of the coffee tables.  He’s grumbling something beneath his breath about putting plastic cups in the bin, keeping their feet off of the furniture.

Zayn licks along his lips, eyes the way Louis’ a little more tense, fussier than usual and maybe Louis knows he’ll be in deep shit if his parents decide to pay a visit to their newly wrecked beach house.  It’s rather evident by the way he’s totting around a plastic bag to snatch up trash and he spends ten minutes berating poor Amelia for spilling half of her drink on that plush ivory rug near one of the couches.  It’s amusing, the way Louis’ nose wrinkles up at the scent of the blunt Mark and Andy are trading back and forth in a corner, the way his eyes grow impossibly large at Max and Aiden getting a little too friendly on the settee – Zayn grimaces at the image – or the way his fingers ball into fists when Calum does a neat spin along the coffee table, the heels of his shoes squeaking against the fragile piece of furniture.

Niall gives him a look over his shoulder, his grin lifted with an arm around Eleanor’s small shoulders like he’s made progress.  Zayn twirls a finger in the air mockingly, shifting his eyes back to Louis who’s giving Cher strict instructions on proper etiquette when at someone else’s establishment.  He snorts at her simple reply – a middle finger salute and a tight grin.

“Who the fuck broke me mum’s favorite vase?”

Zayn chuckles softly, lips wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle while Louis’ drags his eyes around the whole room with an incredulous expression.  He knows no one’s going to fess up, the buzz from heady alcohol and the music distracting everyone long enough for Louis to merely stomp around and collect more rubbish – _I could fill your cup. You know my river won’t evaporate. This world we still appreciate_.  Zayn merely leans back, letting the lip of his bottle rest against the edge of his mouth while Mark and Andy stumble on responses to Louis’ bullying, somehow deflated from their dipping high just that quickly.

Niall laughs loudly, his head thrown back with Eleanor shrinking a little beneath his arm.  He’s draining the last of whatever’s in that red plastic cup, pulling her closer but the eyes falling on them makes her less than encouraging of it all.

Louis spins on his heels – _You could be my luck. Even in a hurricane of frowns, I know that we’ll be safe and sound_ – and he’s _glaring_ at Eleanor, then Niall.  He’s kicking those stupid Vans along the carpet, his brow wrinkled and lowered with a painfully angry set to his lips.  His shoulders are sharp, tense and Zayn’s hauling in a breath of air when Niall slides his sunglasses up on his head.  Zayn’s chewing on his lower lip because, yeah, this won’t end well.

“El – “

Eleanor groans, pushing off of Niall before Louis can finish.  She’s rolling her eyes, shouldering past Louis quickly with stomping heels and Phoebe scurrying out of Cher’s lap to follow her out of the room.  It rattles Cher a little but Zayn’s leaning back like nothing’s happened.  It hasn’t, _yet_.

“You little leprechaun,” Louis starts, stomping forward until he and Niall are a nice distance but close enough for either to hurl a punch at the other.

Niall rolls his eyes, sipping at the last of his drink.  “Fuck off Tommo.”

“Piece of shit little – “

“You pixie-looking – “

“With those stupid blue eyes and I bet you’re on every box of Lucky Charms with your – “

“Stupid hair and who the hell doesn’t wear socks with shoes – “

“I’ll kick your arse from here until – “

“And I don’t know why you act like such a piece of shite all of the time and if I could – “

“Fuck you.”

“You dick.”

Zayn bites down on his bottom lip, slightly impressed with the way they’re both refraining from pummeling the other but, then again, he doesn’t think either of them are truly violent unless they _have_ to be.  No, they’re labored breathing and narrowed eyes with balled up fists, twitching upper lips.  Their glares are just a mild accompaniment to this drawn out tension they’ve been fighting the entire summer and Zayn hollows out his cheeks while waiting for another insult to be thrown.

“I hate you,” Louis snaps, his lips wrinkling.

Zayn lifts his brow because, yeah, he wasn’t expecting that.

“Feelings mutual Tommo,” Niall huffs out, knocking Louis’ shoulder as he walks away, never looking back to see if Zayn’s going to follow.  Zayn knows better.  He doesn’t often see Niall this angry, this riled up but he’s learned never to disturb him when he’s like this.  It’ll fade in a few moments, maybe after a few shots of whiskey or something heavier, but he knows to give Niall space until then.

Louis groans, kicking at a table before he’s trekking off in his own direction, barking something at Jade that leaves her cowering in Perrie’s arms for a beat or two.  Zayn sighs, swallowing down another taste of bitter, warm beer that he doesn’t particularly care for but he thinks it’s helping to take the edge off.  Yeah, it’s distracting enough that he doesn’t really pay attention to the way Calum’s trying to chat him up or the fact that he thinks Max and Aiden are probably going to end up fucking on that other couch with a room full of people not nearly shitfaced enough to witness something that gross.

He merely crosses his legs, lets Cher rest her head on his shoulder while the swell of heat from the room sticks to his skin.  He watches others drift in and out, none of them really drawing his attention long enough for it to matter.  He chews on his lip until it feels raw and throbbing – _I could show you love. In a tidal wave of mystery, you’ll still be standing next to me_ – and wishes he didn’t want to stumble around a few of the other rooms in hopes of finding Liam.

He sort of needs Liam right now.  Just the sound of his voice, the way his thick fingers would probably trace over Zayn’s neck, the curve of his collarbone.  He thinks he’d like the way Liam’s face reminds him of faded black and white photos – perfectly innocent and memorable.  He thinks maybe this slight buzz would feel heavier, more pleasant with Liam leaning on his shoulder, biting down on a grin with shy brown eyes while he tries to tell the shittiest jokes that Zayn always laughs at.  Just the two of them in this blitzed out charade of kids trying to make every moment of tonight count.

Zayn drags his thumb over his lip, smiling at the way Perrie’s whispering to Jade, Calum’s taken up bouncing around this open space now with Leigh-Anne, the wave of person after person peeking into the room for hopes of an escape into the night.  Drink after drink passed around, the pretense falling down into a heap against the ground.  There’s more skin, bodies grinding to something wicked by the Weeknd, a glisten of sweat across every brow because the heat is dripping against the walls.

There’s no Liam but there’s a washed out feeling in his stomach that, somewhere, he’s here.  It’s enough for Zayn to push off the couch, a quick apology to a quite tipsy Cher as she falls into the cushions with a smirk.  He snatches a cup of something weak and ice-down from Joe’s fingers before shifting out of the room, downing the drink in one swallow while wondering what Niall’s probably up to.

**

Zayn meets up with Niall again somewhere between two Coronas and a pale blue drink that’s painfully citrusy with the right hint of vodka that slides smoothly over his tongue.  Niall looks a little more fucked than earlier and he reeks of Jameson but there’s a tousled smile on his lips, blue eyes lidded with a lifted brow.  They don’t talk about it – any of it because that’s how this friendship works – and he takes to poking at Niall’s flushed cheeks until the younger boy is pushing him away with a laugh, dragging Zayn back to him just as quick with an arm slung around Zayn’s lifted shoulders.

They burn off some of their alcohol high by dancing with Perrie and Jade – well, Zayn doesn’t so much dance as he does rock from side to side like he knows what he’s doing; he doesn’t – until the room is thick with summer haze, sticky sweat clinging to Zayn’s back and dripping down the middle.  He ignores the way Perrie and Jade keep giving each other eyes, tipsy on shots of poorly done up tequila and lime juice.  Niall’s head is tipped back, eyes closed while Jade grinds back on him and it’s really kind of sweet the way he looks dreamy and satisfied though Zayn knows Niall’s probably pretending she’s Eleanor, maybe Cher.  He doesn’t flinch when Josh creeps up behind him, arms around Niall’s waist with his chin tucked on his shoulder and they’re really just a mass of glow in the dark intoxication – _I’ve got a little bit longer. I’ve got a ways to go._

Zayn bites down on his lip, pressing up close enough to Perrie that it doesn’t feel awkward and sexual but he still doesn’t feel that dizzy sensation he needs from all of this.  She seems to be reaching for Jade anyway, the two colliding somewhere in the middle with Niall still leaning on her while Josh rubs quite sinfully against Niall’s back.  He shrugs it all off, pushing his fingers through his hair while resting a lazy hand on Perrie’s hip, searching pieces of the room for something to hold on to – _Don’t wanna sleep tonight. You got me feeling right. I didn’t know my name._ He needs a cigarette, another drink, another way of falling through this maze until it’s just blurred images and dulled memories.

It feels like a nice hurricane of spiraling colors behind his eyes when he shifts them shut, drowning in the moment for a brief second before it becomes bland and useless.  Perrie’s warmth is drifting toward Jade’s – he’s not really bothered by that because she reeked of cheap rum and a rather flowery perfume – and Niall’s tipping on the edge while dancing with Josh, a predatory smile on his lips when he looks across the room and spots Cher.  Zayn wants to laugh it all off – the way Niall mouths _“Zaynie”_ at him with a half-drunk smirk – but he pushes away from Perrie instead, jerking his head in the direction of the deck outside.  Niall seems fully committed to his wave of imbalance from the drinks – Zayn’s still not certain how many cups Niall’s had since his riff with Louis but he’s certain it’s far more than what Zayn’s had – and doesn’t make much of an effort to slip from between Jade and Josh, a hand on Jade’s slender hip while his other one seems to be doing something to Josh that leaves him looking debauched and smiling.

Zayn slips away with a grin, – _Even if I smoke in the back room. Even if I go right to meet you. Even when I sleep all day_ – pulling his pack of smokes from the back of his jeans.  He slips one between his lips as he shifts through the growing crowd that now consists of a few secondary students who are probably far too young for the drinks they’re sipping on with mashed up giggles and snorts.

He chews on the corner of his lip, watching Harry descend down the steps with a smug grin on his lips, disheveled curls, and flushed cheeks.  Rebecca, one of Danielle’s friends with a statuesque body, dark hair, and the kind of smile Zayn thinks is sort of unforgettable, follows behind him while trying to pull her tight skirt down, her bra tucked into her palm with a sort of offbeat walk that probably comes from… Yeah, Zayn doesn’t really want to think about _that_.  He merely nods a greeting to Harry, sliding through a rather loud game of beer pong that doesn’t seem to be going in Jay’s favor while completely avoiding the portion of the floor that Calum’s laid out on.  Phoebe’s doing body shots off of him with a squeal and kicked up smirks.

It’s one of those reckless scenes that Zayn remembers from those films Doniya would watch when he was younger – all _American Pie_ and _Animal House_ with the right hint of _Superbad_ and _Can’t Hardly Wait_.  It ticks up a smile on his own lips, the corners rounding just slightly so the cigarette doesn’t slip from his mouth.

The ocean dances over the sand, rolling and shifting like a well-choreographed dance that he’s built a rhythm over.  The waves kick particularly loud like a snare drum when the wind ruts up against the sea, calming just before licking at the edges of the shoreline.  The heat is a nice stickiness now, a little more comfortable and edgeless.  His eyes have been closed for a minute or two now, deep drags of his cigarette doing little to rid that comforting stench of beach water and a dead sunset.  He flicks at the ash on his fag, leaning against the harsh metal railing that doesn’t really make you comfortable enough looking over the edge but he likes the danger of it all – the way the drop could probably kill someone if they were stupid enough to fall off.

He rubs at his chin, the scruff pricking at the tips of his fingers in that oddly comforting way he’s grown accustom to since he was sixteen with more facial hair than a shitload of his mates – not that he considered any of them really his friends, other than Danny and Ant.  His fingers grip at the cool metal of the railing, eyes batting open to take in the way the night blankets over the sea like a dead highway in the middle of nowhere.  There’s a cotton candy stream of light from the moon that sinks over the sand, across a scruff of grass, smooth rock.  He holds the cigarette between his lips, little puffs here and there that don’t sink it but he knows he’s doing it more for the thought of this awful habit freeing his mind rather than letting his lungs soak up that smoke.  He’s going through the motions for a moment, exhaling little rings of smoke from the side of his mouth while casually listening to small conversations between a few of the people at the party he doesn’t know.

Zayn drags his teeth over his bottom lip, another habit he just can’t seem to break, as his mind jumps and ticks with the wild wave cracking through his mind.  It starts with school, books, fucking nameless classmates he doesn’t really care for before it slips back to family, Bradford, that little coffee shop on the north side of town that has the best biscuits with a cheap cuppa he can enjoy in peace.  It’s days in the sun, his toes in the sand, Niall in a silly pair of sunglasses with his snapback cocked sideways on his head before it’s shitty drinks, snogging a girl who’s begging him for more, a hand on his cock from a bloke he could do loads more with but won’t.  The slide buzzes into soft cheeks, buzzed hair that’s getting long at the crown, tan skin that’s almost glittery gold underneath the sun with a thick thatch of hair on a solid chest.  Its warm hands running down the side of his neck, his name spread across Liam’s lips.

He blinks for a moment as it catches like a slow rhythm, the echoing roll of a song played in A minor that speaks volumes – _Liam, Liam, Liam_.  His cheeks feel hot, his breath caught right on the corner of his lungs.  Another sharp inhale of everlasting smoke, exhaling through his nose this time while the ocean rocks like a lullaby in the night.  It feels so pointless, the way his dreams always end that way.

They always end with Liam Payne and his fingers reaching out for something he won’t touch.

There’s a mumbling to his left, his chin tucking as he looks up at Louis through his lashes.  Louis’ masterfully balancing a beer in one hand, a plastic cup in his other while leaning with his back against the railing.  His hair is mussed, once bright blue eyes a little hollowed but there’s something like a sticky smile on his lips.  All of the buttons of his probably insanely expensive Topman shirt are undone and his chinos are rolled up mid-shin, neatly tan skin looking bright and gorgeous beneath the pale stream of light from the moon.

“You okay mate?” Zayn asks, his voice hollowed as he flicks the flame of his lighter.

Louis snorts, nodding quickly before taking a swig of his beer.  “Perfectly splendid.”

Zayn wants to scoff at him, remind Louis what happened earlier but he knows that’ll be ineffective.  There’s a looseness to Louis’ stance, the way he’s giving into the slow slide of alcohol and Zayn figures its best not to disturb this side of Louis.  It’s oddly calming.

“Sick party,” Zayn says offhandedly because he’s not really sure what else to say.

It’s not that he and Louis are complete strangers; they’re not.  They’ve shared a few classes, spoken more than once, even gathered at that shitty pub back home in Durham with a couple of mutual mates but Zayn’s not pretentious like Louis is.  He’s not really great at playing up to an image – he wears leather jackets most of the year because he _likes_ them, not because he wants to be seen as some mysterious bad boy, okay? – like Louis is.  But he’s fond of Louis, honestly.  He likes the way Louis’ quite brilliant, a bit stubborn but much more thoughtful than he puts on.

“Yeah,” Louis drags out, a slow sip of his other drink this time.  He licks at his lips, the faint stain of red probably from fruit juice.  “It’s quite brilliant, right?”

Zayn nods slowly, puffing on his cigarette.  “Enjoying yourself?”

Louis’ lips purse, eyes narrowing.  “Your friend is a _dick_.”

Zayn snorts, grinning widely for Louis.  He’s not going to deny it though he should.  He should tell Louis to fuck off because he doesn’t know Niall and has never bothered to try to.  He blows the smoke in Louis’ direction instead, letting his smile slide sideways.

“Don’t think he’s too fond of you either, mate,” Zayn says smugly.

“Yeah, well,” Louis says, the other words dying off in the stuttered shift of the wind.  “He might be right about me.”

Zayn’s brow lifts gently, sucking in his bottom lip.  He taps at the end of his cigarette, the ash falling off while Louis does a rather ridiculous _sip-swallow-gulp_ of beer and alcohol.  He waits until Louis exhales a rather long sigh, leaning further back against the railing until he looks like he could tip over with the slightest shove.  It doesn’t make Zayn as much fearful as it does awkward and he doesn’t know why.

“I’m not a complete arse though,” Louis admits, swallowing a breath instead of booze this time.  He toys with the fringe that’s completely out of place against his forehead now, grinning toward the masses in the dining area.  “I just don’t like letting things go.  I figure things, _people_ are in my life for a reason and why do I have to just give up that sort of power because this fucked up world deems it my time to release them?”

Zayn nods slowly.  He gets that – he’s the same way.

“I think you’re decent,” Zayn says softly, a smaller smile licking at his lips when Louis glances at him.

Louis nods back, mirroring the expression on Zayn’s face.  “Think so, eh?”

Zayn shrugs, turning a little until his back pushing against the steely surface of the rail.  He sucks in another breath of smoke, waiting until Louis does another combination of beer and cheap alcohol before he offers Louis a grin.

“And I don’t think Niall hates you either,” Zayn adds, tracing his eyes over the freckles in Louis’ skin, the way those blue eyes are a little brighter with the glaze of alcohol and mild exhaustion.

“Fucker could’ve fooled me.”

“You _are_ a prick to him though,” Zayn notes, tipping his head back to blow a long stream of smoke into the sky.  It dances off like fireflies chasing the wind.

“I’m a prick to everyone,” Louis insists with a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating over his lips.

Zayn nods, snorting.

“But maybe he’s not so bad either,” Louis says with a long sigh.  He winks at Zayn, another long swallow of his beer making the slide of his smile a little more believable.

“Are you crushing on my best mate?” Zayn teases, shoving Louis lightly.  It knocks Louis a little off balance, the drink in his hand splashing out against the nicely finished wood deck and Louis’ laughing like a complete idiot for a breath.

“Are you crushing on _mine_?”

Zayn swallows quickly, huffing in another cloud of smoke.  He lets it rest in his lungs, the burn sharp and unpleasant but much needed.  He narrows his eyes at Louis, studying him and, even in his intoxicated state, Louis’ not backing down.  He’s fearless, not the least bit withdrawn, and Zayn can’t help but admire the little shit for a moment.

“Forget it,” Zayn mutters.  The smoke sort of dies from his lips, just a mist now as he traces his eyes over the few people trickling out onto the deck.  They’re not important but he focuses in on them like they matter, like they’re drops of starlight in the blackness.

“Okay,” Louis draws out, setting his cup down before swallowing back more of his beer.  “But do you?  Fancy my best mate, I mean.”

Zayn cautiously inhales again, the smoke like taffy against his tongue.  He doesn’t really taste it anymore and the mild buzz he had from earlier has died off like the waves from the ocean below.  His fingers tingle while his heart clicks just a little too loudly like the ticks of a windup toy.  He scrubs the heel of his hand down his face, never bothering to look at Louis though he can feel those steely blue eyes on him.  He chews at his lips, licks at them until they don’t feel as chapped as they once did.  He eases his head back, the stars like flicks of silver paint from the tip of a paintbrush.  They’re scattered, looking for a home in the sky, and he tries to imagine that’s what his life feels like: homeless and searching.

There’s a slip of something familiar against his skin, his heart racing when he looks through those large glass windows into the party.  His breath hitches and he does his best to disguise it under a cough.  His palms feel sweaty, one last pull from his cigarette before it burns down to the filter.  He stubs it out without looking, breathing in the air that’s faint with nicotine but salty with the scent of something rustic.  He runs his eyes over round cheeks, a youthful smile, brown eyes that are almost hard to recognize with the way they’re crinkled with delight.  He finds it hard to look away – _I know your insides are feeling so hollow. And it’s a hard pill for you to swallow_ – while missing the burn of a cigarette between his fingertips.

He doesn’t think Liam notices him through the glass, too caught up in a game of quarters that he’s winning more than he’s taking shots of a tall bottle of vodka.  His head tips back with laughter, another quarter sinking in the cup, while Jordan and Cher do their best to keep up.  He rubs at the nape of his neck, those cheeks looking softer than they were earlier on the beach and there’s a sheen of sweat slicking his forehead like he might’ve lost a couple of rounds already.  Those thick fingers dance over the muscles in his arm, his tight t-shirt doing little to hide the definition.

Zayn swallows, his knees dipping a little.  He fusses with his hair, rubs at his lips, fidgets for a second or two while trying not to think about the way Liam’s bottom lip is so full, kissable.  He feels that sharp tug in his stomach – _But if I fall for you, I’ll never recover. If I fall for you, I’ll never be the same_ – while his fingers run the sharpness of his jaw.  He smiles when Liam does, sways a little at the way Liam calls for others to join in, nearly hauls Josh to the table with those muscles flexing and straining.  Zayn doesn’t think about the coil of those arms around him, lifting him, gently laying him down onto a bed with all of that thickness pressing up against Zayn’s wiry figure.

“You _do_ , yeah?”

Zayn’s not startled by Louis’ voice but his thoughts are unsettled, the break of a wave when the sea is oddly calm and quiet.  He runs his tongue over his lips again, sweet thoughts of crushing them against Liam’s playing an unforgivable melody in his mind – _I really wanna love somebody. I really wanna dance the night away._

His fingers rub against his neck, drift down onto the hollow of his collarbone before he turns his head a little in Louis’ direction.  He wants to lie; fuck, he _needs_ to lie.  It creaks against his mind but the summer’s just a memory now, right?  What’s the point of holding it all in?

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, a freckling of blush dusting his cheeks.  He ducks his head, feeling thirteen and helplessly in love with a fantasy.

Louis nods with an endearing smirk that Zayn’s a little afraid of.  When was Louis Tomlinson ever sweet?  Gentle?  Understanding?

“I love him to death,” Louis tells him, sipping quickly on the beer he’s been nursing for far too long now.  “He’s the only thing from back home that I’ll never leave behind.  I can’t imagine life without that lad.”

A tongue slides over Zayn’s lips once more, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly.  He chances another look at Liam, a smile on his lips like the sun spotting the earth – _I know we’re only halfway there but you take me all the way; you take me all the way_.  Those fingers dance into his hair when he takes a shot, his face pinching painfully before he’s giggling, smacking at Josh’s arm.

Zayn bites down hard on his bottom lip, wanting to push all of this riddled life to the side – the fears, the reality, the way he knows it’d be quite daft to chase this illusion of bliss thinking he actually has a chance.

“He’s a sweet guy too,” Louis adds with a breathy laugh.  “Probably too nice.  He’s a fucking idiot and I can’t help but love him.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says softly, his eyelashes fluttering before he drops his eyes.  He looks over his hands, watches the way they shake and tremble – _I really wanna touch somebody. I think about you every single day._

Louis nudges his shoulder to Zayn’s and Zayn’s not really sure when he got that close.  He can taste the alcohol on Louis’ exhales, feels the warmth of his closeness.  He doesn’t flinch away, merely looking up shyly through his eyelashes before smiling.

“He talks about you loads,” Louis mutters, lips curling around the neck of his beer bottle.  He huffs out a laugh, shrugging.  “Guess the guy thinks you’re pretty neat too.  Well, least he likes the friendship you two have.  Maybe more.”

“He’s here for Danielle,” Zayn says quickly and he wishes the words don’t bite as much as they do when they touch his lips.

Louis nods, a muted look on his face.  “He can be daft sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all,” Zayn sighs out, peeling his eyes away.  He watches Liam giggle into Josh’s shoulder, those large hands palming the bottle of vodka until he’s nearly tipping it over, refilling a few glasses with Cher looking disgusted and ready to quit.

“But he sort of, I don’t know, _really_ likes you being around,” Louis whispers like it’s a secret he’s keeping from the world.  The words mash together, all a little slurred.  “Like, fuck, he’s my best mate and all but I know he thinks the world of you Zee.  For fuck’s sake, I don’t get it because I’m pretty sure he fancies Dani and all but, I just… I think he’d be massively upset if you two never spoke again after the summer is over.”

Zayn leans back, tries to school the shocked expression on his face.  He blinks at Louis a few times – _You’re such a hard act for me to follow. Love me today, don’t leave me tomorrow_ – while rubbing at his lips.  They feel numb and he wishes it was from the alcohol or the burn of his cigarette.  He breathes in a deep breath of ocean air, the thick heat that’s sticking to his skin again.  He feels his stomach drop, a rich warmth stirring beneath his skin until it crawls out and fucks his whole thought process in two.

Louis winces a little, looking gutted for possibly saying too much.  Zayn thinks he hasn’t quite said enough.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says with a laugh that’s more bitter than amused.  “You think I like losing all of my best mate’s attention for a stoner bad boy?”

Zayn purses his lips.  He’s not impressed by Louis’ weak attempt at sounding angry or wounded.

“Niall’s right.  You are – “

“I am a dick,” Louis confirms with a small nod, another swish of fuzzy beer meeting his lips.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love Li.  Doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous that you fit into his little world just as much as I do.”

Zayn rubs at his cheek, stilling a breath.  He can taste something familiar and unwanted at the back of his throat: _hope_.  He hates the way it stings on the way down.  He was through with this fucked out summer, remember?  It’s just a faded memory in a scrapbook he probably won’t even leaf through in a couple of months.

Louis nudges him with an elbow, that half-thought-out smile returning.  “I don’t think that about you, y’know.”

Zayn does but he’s not letting Louis win this war.  He’s not letting him off that easily for being a complete asshole to cover up his own insecurities.

“You’re a daft fuck,” he mumbles instead, biting down on the smile that’s lifting the curves of his cheeks.

Louis snorts, shrugging without a care.  He turns back to the glass doors, sighing helplessly.  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Zayn gives a fleeting look back to the party.  He watches the way Eleanor sinks down into Liam’s lap, taking his shot for him with a cheery laugh and her arms curling around Liam’s neck.

“What happened?”

Zayn catches the way Louis shakes visibly, looking pale and broken for just a moment – _I don’t know where to start. I’m just a little lost_.  He wants to take the question back for half a second, reword everything but he’s too honest for that.  He thinks Louis is too.

“Sometimes we don’t know what to do with the great things that come our way,” Louis says softly, the words dripping in a hint of remorse.  “So we let them go.  We push them aside because if we break all of the beautiful things in this world, then what’s left to aspire for?  What makes us completely screwed up few have faith that everything in life isn’t completed fucked, y’know?”

Zayn nods along, his teeth putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on his bottom lip.  He itches at his skin, needing another cigarette before he’s just an ember of this neat little glowing feeling he has while watching Liam.  Fuck, he can’t help the smile passing over his lips when Liam leans up to press a gentle kiss to Eleanor’s cheek.  He’s a puppy and Zayn wants to swallow him up in his arms.

“She’s that beautiful thing,” Louis huffs out like it hurts.  “And I’m one of the fucked up few.”

Zayn hums a response, fingers sliding into his hair, loving the stiffness when he really pulls at it.  He watches another smile curl over Liam’s lips, Cher’s head against the table with Jordan fighting back a gag while taking another shot.  He slides his thumb over his hairline – _I don’t know what to do. I’m right in front of you_ – and his mind sinks back to Liam’s arms curled around him on the beach.  He can remember the slide of Liam’s cheek against his own, the way his thumbs traced the flatness of Zayn’s stomach, their feet nuzzling against each other in the sand.  He’s cottonmouth and sliding down an endless curve toward something that he knows will be bittersweet in the end.

“Want her back?”

Louis snorts, shaking his head.  “She’s a sweetheart but things are different now.”

Zayn watches Louis’ eyes slowly slide over Harry through the glass.  Those curls are swiped to one side, large hands slipping his fedora over some young boy’s head before they’re making the slow climb up the stairs.  Louis’ grinning like there’s a dirty secret waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“They’re _much_ different,” Louis snickers, shaking his head again.

“Different,” Zayn repeats lowly, nodding.

He thinks life is like that sometimes – _different_.  He just hasn’t figured out how to work his way around that.  No, he hasn’t figured out how to let go of things like Liam before he completely fucks up a beautiful thing.

**

Niall finds him somewhere between a thick of something deliciously pleasant on his mind – a few shots with Josh accomplished that – and a boastful game of beer pong that pits him and Perrie against a less than enthusiastic Max and Jesy.  He’s abandoned those thoughts about when Jesy decided to forget the part where Max was sort of snogging Aiden earlier or the way Max seems either high off his arse or stumbling through a few too many cups of something dark and unhealthily strong earlier.  Jesy does nearly half the cups of beer for Max who’s aiming at the wall rather than the cups in front of Zayn and Perrie, Niall cheering from the side with an arm thrown around Jade’s shoulder, Phoebe leaning against him with a hiccupping grin.

Zayn’s wafting off a few cups of beer himself, sinking ball after ball into cups across the table while Perrie shamelessly aims for Max’s crotch rather than the plethora of cups before her.  He’s buzzing with the way Niall roots for them, Jade booing each time Jesy manages to land a ball in a cup.  Perrie willingly downs each drop of flat beer like she gives two shits about that thing called a liver or the way she’s slowing with her reaction time whenever someone tells a joke.

He’s tingly with the need for another cigarette, probably some of that nice jungle-like weed Greg’s been passing around for the pass hour in neatly wrapped blunts made of cigar paper with the edges burnt off to keep it closed.  He wonders where Louis’ drifted off to but he’s heard a lot less complaining about rubbish being scattered all over the house, though he does notice a few more of the patrons making a conscious effort to use coasters and keeping their feet off of the furniture.  He laughs at that because, fuck, Louis is nothing but a little tyrant but no one ever seems to cross him.

Well, except Niall but he thinks even Niall’s doing his best to be on good behavior by dropping his red plastic cups in bins stuffed in the corners of the rooms.

Zayn waffles on his next throw, the ping pong bouncing gracelessly over the table when he spots Liam leaning against a wall with a shy smile gracing his lips.  He’s hesitant about returning it, scrubbing his dull nails against the back of his neck with a weak effort at hiding his blush.  Liam’s nipping at his bottom lip, nodding in some sort of approval when Zayn sinks a ball into a cup in the far left corner.  Max is stumbling away before Jesy’s groaning loudly and swallowing her fifth cup in as many minutes.

“Nice one Zaynie!” Niall calls out, taking something clear and sparkling from Josh when he passes.  Zayn can smell it from where he is – some off-brand gin – and Niall tips his head back to chuck it down before Perrie has a chance to toss her next ping pong across the length of the table.

“Model citizen, isn’t he?” Phoebe teases and Zayn watches Josh ducking his head, pretending like those little looks Niall gives him from time to time don’t completely unravel him.

They’re fucking idiots avoiding the obvious and Zayn hums to himself before he looks at Liam again.  Yeah, he doesn’t think he has much room to talk.

The music rocks against that sweet his riding off of – _I don’t mind letting you down easy, but just give it time. If it don’t hurt now then just wait, just wait a while_ – and everything feels on fire when Liam’s lips are slick from his tongue, those eyes too bright beneath the dulled light from the ceiling.  Fingers scrub through that bush of hair on the top of his head, his wide shoulders rounding and Zayn’s more than distracted with the way Liam only seems to be looking at him.  It’s kicking at his gut, the proud drum of a bass guitar and rhythmic heartbeats.

Max stumbles back, trips over a passing Jay and he’s laid out against hardwood floor with wide eyes and parted lips while Jesy mewls in defeat, lifting her arms helplessly.  Zayn smirks something self-righteous and triumphant while Jade squeals in delight.  Niall’s offering one of those mocking hand claps that Zayn laughs gleefully at, the tip of his tongue pressing firmly against the back of his teeth – _Ain’t it fun living in the real world. Ain’t it good being all alone?_

He shakes when Perrie throws helpless arms around his neck, red lipstick smearing against the stubble on his cheek when she presses her lips firmly there.  She’s giggling in his ear, tangling her fingers in his hair and, fuck, he hates that.  He grimaces, patting her back before pulling all the way back and detangling himself from her.  She tips back into Jade’s welcoming arms, lips pressing chastely together and, yeah, it’s a bit obvious now.  They’re starry-eyed and lost in their cheeriness while Phoebe barks out a laugh at the way Jesy’s trying to make her way away from the table without falling down.

Zayn bites down on a small smile, nodding at Niall before searching the room for something warm and soft – _Don’t go crying to your momma ‘cause you’re on your own in the real world_ – but he never finds it.  Liam’s slipped away, nowhere in sight and he fights with the frown threatening to overtake his lips.  His fingers are clenching into fists and he wants to brush it all off.  He wants to sink into a pleasant state of intoxication that doesn’t include thinking about boys with soft cheeks, round eyes, a nose he wants to press the edge of his lips to while his fingers search out the softer portions of Liam’s firm body.

“Think I spotted him go ‘round the corner,” Niall says offhandedly like it’s not really an important piece of information.  Or like he knows Zayn doesn’t want anyone to figure out that look on his face is because Liam’s gone, again.

Zayn nods slowly, his fingers itching at his sides.

“Need a drink,” Phoebe slurs out, waving Josh over.

“And they might need a room,” Niall adds, smirking at the way Perrie and Jade are still a little too close, snickering at each other like their buzz is heavier than everyone else’s.

“Threesome?” Josh offers, leaning up against Niall.

Zayn’s eyes go a little wide because Niall looks like he’s actually considering the idea.  Fuck if it doesn’t sound quite interesting but, _really_?

“Maybe not,” Niall says flatly, arching an eyebrow when Perrie’s hand shifts down Jade’s back.

They all look up when Harry descends down the steps again, a pretty blue-eyed blonde following.  She’s an American exchange student – Kristen? Veronica? No, _Taylor_ – that never really fit in with anyone but she’s nice enough Zayn assumes.  There’s an annoyed look plastered on Harry’s face while she goes on and on from behind him like he’s really paying attention to any of it.  Zayn can see the crumbled foil wrapper from the condom Harry probably used pressed to his palm with more than a few of the buttons on his shirt undone.

“It was just,” she gushes, smiling in that sickeningly cheerful way like a freshly ruined virgin, “amazing.”

Harry nods, eyes rolling before he’s spinning around toward her.  “I should probably, you know, catch up with me mates.”

There’s a frown passing over her lips, all of them watching intently as her brow scrunches, those blue eyes flickering dimmer.

“You don’t want to, I don’t know, sit around and chat?”

Harry laughs, long and sweeping while he slides his hands through his curls, sweeping them to the side.

“Oh, babes, ‘s not really my thing,” Harry insists, resting a hand on her shoulder that looks more condescending than comforting.  “But I’ll follow you on Twitter, yeah?  Add you as one of my favorites.”

 _Ouch_ , Zayn thinks.  He can spot the amused grin on Niall’s lips, the way his blue eyes are lit up with fascination before Josh’s face twists in complete horror at the way Taylor shoves his hand off.  Smart girl.

“You know Harry Styles,” she starts, her words already pointed with a curled upper lip, “one day I’m going to write a brilliant, fascinating, smashingly wonderful song about your arse.  You’ll hear me on the radio and wish I would’ve stuck around.”

“Wish you would’ve come a little quicker actually,” Harry mutters under his breath and Zayn snorts, Phoebe gasping while Niall folds his arms over his chest with a tipping grin.  Yeah, Niall’s definitely interested.

“You royally fucked up hipster,” Taylor hisses, spinning on her far too tall red pumps before she’s stomping away, the clattering sound of her heels against the hardwood beating up the rhythm of the stereo – _Ain’t it fun living in the real world_.

Harry shrugs with a small smile, tilting his head a little to look at Niall.  Niall doesn’t budge, lifting his brow a little while those large emerald eyes give him a once over.  There’s a chuckle passing Harry’s lips, dimple flaring before he’s shaking his head, easing through the crowd toward something a little less challenging.  Zayn doesn’t say it but he knows Niall’s façade is fading the moment Harry drifts off and Josh is just a little quieter than before, linking fingers with Phoebe to drag her away rather than actively expose his disappointment.

Fucking obvious idiots.

**

He doesn’t really go looking for Liam on purpose.  Well, at least that’s what he tells himself.

He’s merely mingling through the flutters of people, stopping for a chat with that genuinely nice redhead Ed, giving an ear to a slew of poorly timed jokes from Matt while avoiding those little drunken glances Leigh-Anne’s giving him like she’s trying to build the courage up to ask him to snog her in one of the many closest around the house.  He sips a beer in the corner of one room, little lifts of his shoulders to whatever thumping through the sound system now – _Too much light in this window, don’t wake me up. Only coffee, no sugar, inside my cup._ His lips curl around the lip of the bottle, fingers shifting through the stiff fringe of his hair until he’s fingering the faded blonde strips that are a sharp copper now, dulled from the summer sun.  His fingers drift over the cold metal of the silver stud in his cartilage, a tight grin on his lips while watching Jesy curl up next to Cher, drunken dreams lulling them both into cheap smiles like the girls of London.

Each room is a nice warm dizzy feeling, shouldering through faces he tries to remember.  Maybe they’ll matter in a few months?  Maybe this sliding feeling in his gut – anticipation – will set a fire to the memories he’s trying to catalogue.  Each passing smiles, a jerk of a head as if to say _“What’s up,”_ the patterned way everyone is clinging to someone else before this all falls away.  It’s that cliché feeling that drags against your mind for a few days after a goodbye – _If I wake and you’re here still, give me a kiss. I wasn’t finished dreaming about your lips._

The alcohol doesn’t set in properly and he’s pretty sure he needs a cigarette.  He’s fairly certain he needs his heart to stop racing when he stumbles upon Liam, somewhere buried in the heat of the foyer where people are far too crowded around each other like a mini-dance floor.  He wants his breathing to slow – two beats meet three, inhale rolling behind an exhale – and this fucking beer isn’t enough to make him feel numb like it should.  No, it only chases the slight buzz from earlier until they’re crashing into each other like the pounding of a sweet parade.

He watches Liam dance in time to every crashing synthesizer in the music – _Don’t wake me up. Don’t wake me up_ – with an arm thrown up and the other steadying the sharp curve of a pair of hips.  There’s sweat shining on his brow, sliding down those soft cheeks and over the rough blonde scruff.  Someone’s snapback is thrown carelessly over his head, that black shirt clinging to his skin and Zayn bites at his lips.  That tan flesh is probably damp with perspiration, a salty taste that Zayn can imagine rolling across his tongue.  Usually vibrant eyes are closed, lips parted like he’s breathless until they’re curling around the edges into a heartbreaking smile.

It’s a rush of panic, Zayn’s nimble fingers twisting around the neck of his beer but never lifting it to his lips.  He winces when Katharine pushes by him smelling like dark ale and those fucking clove cigarettes he smoked when he was sixteen and stupid.  There’s a roll of sweat sliding down the back of his neck and he wants to blame it on how massively crowded it is right here, bodies on bodies like some practiced form of self-preservation during a blizzard.  He can’t swallow – _So much life in this city, you won’t believe. Been awake for some days now, no time to sleep_ – and his heart is hammering loud enough that every tick of the music doesn’t really register.

“Come on Malik, yeah?” Max calls as he pushes into the foyer, dragging Phoebe and Jesy with him towards the middle, right up next to Liam.

Niall’s there too, fucking glow in the dark pink sunglasses over his eyes with a sinful grin to those usually laughing pink lips.  He’s sliding off beat, grinding backwards into a smirking Harry with Harry’s large hands on his hips.  Long fingers curl into the expanse of skin that’s exposed from Niall’s tank top riding too high up on his waist.  Whispers into the shell of an ear that leave Niall’s cheeks stained a dark red, the flush of pink probably from the drinks Niall’s already had.  Niall’s snapback is resting sloppily on his head, Harry’s fedora pushed back over the crown of his own head and they find a rhythm that looks completely devoid of coordination but it works for them.  There’s a glint of something dangerous in the corners of Harry’s neon green eyes, his cheeks spread wide with dimples and that smile is all teeth that are biting on the edge of his tongue.

“Fuck me,” Louis breathes out when he leans into the foyer with Zayn, swirling the contents of a plastic cup for a moment – _Tell me what is this music inside my head_ – before he’s sipping on it, exhaling hard.

Zayn inhales sharply, tries not to notice that their eyes are trained on the same thing.  They’re watching Liam’s knees dip, his cheeks afire with blush as his fingers curl further into that waist, shoulders slumped forward as he glides into the music like he’s a fucking paper airplane sailing on a gust of wind.  And maybe this feeling inside of Zayn isn’t really pain – _fuck_ , it probably is – and he wants a cigarette, a breath of fresh air, and to take his eyes away from the sight of Liam rolling his hips as he presses up against Danielle’s backside.  He wants to hush the world that’s speaking a little too loudly – _I don’t wanna fall, fall, fall asleep. I don’t wanna fall unless I’m falling for you_ – while the corners of Liam’s mouth slide into another smile like this is all he’s ever wanted.

This little thing with Danielle is all he ever needed.

It’s a stiff reminder that has Zayn swallowing down the last of his beer and wishing he was somewhere sleep.  Back in Durham in that uncomfortable University bed that keeps him up for hours at night but settles into a nice slumber just before the waking of dawn.  Somewhere far away from this stupid town with its long stretch of beach, crashing waves, nice people, and a lifeguard who completely fucks with his head and his flickering heart.

“Nice,” Louis hums, blue eyes lifted from Liam and Zayn has to track Louis’ stare for a few seconds before he finds it on Harry and Niall.

Louis’ tongue rolls over his lips – Zayn shudders at the way it’s supposed to be seductive but it’s far from that in Louis’ intoxicated state – and he’s jerking his head in their direction like that’s supposed to mean something.

“Your mate isn’t too bad, yeah?” Louis says with a grin, fingers playing lazily against the soft fringe on his head.  Blue eyes are sparked up with life again, whatever’s in that cup doing magic for Louis’ disposition.

“What?”

Louis clears his throat – _Don’t wake me up_ – before leaning in Zayn’s direction.  He’s giggling, wasted on the high of the music and the daze of summer.  “Your mate – _Niall_ – isn’t all that bad.  I still fucking hate him but, I don’t know.  Maybe.”

He doesn’t finish or elaborate.  He sips slowly on his drink, still smiling with a glassiness to those sharp eyes.  He rocks a little to the music, finding the beat without trying, and Zayn’s arching an eyebrow and curling his lips into a shocked expression.

“Nialler?”

“Yes Zaynie,” Louis sighs out with a hiccup and a smirk.

Zayn grimaces quickly, narrowing his eyes at Louis.  Only Niall can call him that.  It’s a fucking irritating nickname that Zayn wants to banish from Niall’s lips but Niall is his best mate and he does things like that.  He comes up with silly nicknames, hangs his arm around your shoulders far too much, clings to you like a second set of skin, and Zayn’s not afraid to admit that everything about him is comforting, even that fucked nickname.

But it doesn’t sound the same coming from Louis’ twitching lips and he hopes his glare is enough to express that to Louis.

“But you still hate him,” Zayn confirms, biting down on his lip.

“Of course.”

“And you think he’s hot?”

“ _Fuckable_.  There’s a difference,” Louis notes with a pointed index finger like he has more to offer that’ll sound logical and worth a listen from Zayn.

He doubts that on far too many levels.

“But – “

“Yeah, yeah.  Hate his guts, want to throw him off the fucking balcony of a five-story house and all that,” Louis says with a harsh sigh and a waving hand.  “And I’d much rather blow Styles but, still.”

He leaves it at that and Zayn’s certain he’s much dizzier from Louis’ words rather than the booze still rolling through his system.  It leaves a scrummy taste in the back of his mouth, his brow wrinkled with his trainers scuffing against the hardwood floor.  He really wants that smoke now, maybe a couple shots of something cheap and hangover-inducing to lighten this feeling inside of himself.  It’ll be lighter in the morning after a tall cup of black coffee and a drive out of this place.  A slow ride back to sanity he supposes.

“She’ll never make him happy,” Louis says almost mockingly, a frown pushing at his lips as he eyes Liam, then Danielle, then Liam again.  “She just won’t.”

Zayn hates that he wants to believe Louis, a flickering flame still singeing the corners of his heart.  He wants another beer to settle it all and he regrets letting his eyes linger on Liam even longer, watching the way those brown eyes are open now, a smile shared between he and Josh before Josh is sidling up behind Liam, dancing on him in a far too friendly manner.  They’re both a clatter of laughter, Josh’s smaller form pressed tightly to Liam’s larger, muscular body.

“But he doesn’t get it,” Louis adds, leaning in closer to Zayn.

He wants to push Louis away, ignore his words or the tone of his voice but he doesn’t.  He watches the way Liam smiles into Danielle’s shoulders, tries to paint himself into her place.  It doesn’t work and he’s far too hot in his kit, the sweat slicking his throat and collarbone now.

There’s something glossing over her lips – _annoyance_ – that has her pulling away just a little and Louis’ echoing in his ear: “He never gets it.  I love the stupid sod, but he just never gets it.”

Zayn thinks maybe Liam does, his teeth sinking into his lip when Liam’s eyes meet his from across the room.  His snapback is nearly falling off of his head when he straightens, licking at full lips that spread into a quiet smile.  Zayn doesn’t return it, too much white noise in his mind.  He catches the way Liam nods at him, trying to say something without words but Zayn ignores it in favor of a deep breath.  He rubs at his chin, waiting a few beats before turning away.

Maybe neither one of them gets it.  Maybe they never will.

**

The valley of night air pressing against his skin is cool and comforting.  There’s a smile slicked across his lips, the ones that feel a bit numb and fuzzy each time he takes a hit off of the blunt being passed around.  The smoke lingers in his chest, his lungs, pumping through his blood stream until he’s walking on a wave of pleasure and nirvana.  His trainers scruff along the broken down bits of road just outside of Louis’ car park, dragging along small pebbles and broken pieces of sidewalk.

He feels weightless for a breath or two while sitting on the curb, Niall to his left and Phoebe to his right.  Luke is there too, quiet and observant before his high settles in.  Luke’s usually a cagey kind of smoker, who looks like a prairie dog searching for food or guarding himself from an unwanted attack.  It amuses Zayn, the way Niall’s all calm and Zen when he gets high; Phoebe turning posh and model-like like she’s fucking Kate Moss on a bender.

Harry’s standing over them, the joint held loosely between his lips while his index and thumb pinch at the end.  Smoke billows from those cherry lips, a giggling smile on his lips like he’s caught up in the haze of it all with sticky sweat matting down his curls and a newborn glint to his eyes.  The sleeves of his Henley are rolled up past his elbows, his ink nearly shining in the dusty light of the moon.  The buttons are undone, the tattoos on his chest highlighted and the flush to his cheeks make him look impossibly younger than he really is.  He’s blindly passing the joint to Perrie, curling out rings of smoke while grinning down at Niall for a moment.  Zayn wonders if he’s on the hunt or if Niall just fascinates him but he waves it off while waiting on his next hit.

Zayn tips his head back, smirking, letting everything settle down until the rock of the wind doesn’t scare him.  He listens to Phoebe purring next to him, Niall’s shifty movements telling him that he’s not quite there with his high yet.  He feels every prickle of the cool air, the faint hairs on his arms standing up while the taste of the ocean, the dark of summer oxygen, that stingy scent of quality weed sinks into his system.

He loves nights like this – the drag of alcohol in your system dancing comfortably with the lightheaded feeling you get from being high.  The quiet of the night – well, it’s actually loud because they can still hear the chatter from a few of the kids at the top of the drive, the music still pounding, the whispers of a few drunken party goers stumbling around the neighborhood like they have nothing to fear – licking at his body until he can’t think of anywhere else to be.  The way he knows Niall’s not leaving his side anytime soon, despite the little looks Harry and Niall keep exchanging like they’re thinking about blowing each other right then and there.  The slow slide of all of his thoughts – his family, University, his fucked up path in life, Liam – becoming quieter and quieter with every beat.

“Buzzing?” Niall asks with a lifted smile, his voice low.

Zayn shrugs stiffly, pulling in another drag before holding in the smoke.  He blows it out toward Harry, a sideways grin on his lips before he’s passing it to Niall.  He’s pinching the end while Niall grabs what’s left of the middle, the cherry glowing bright, bright orange when Niall takes it to his lips.

“Not really,” Zayn breathes out, his tongue running lightly over his chapped lips.  “Almost.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

“Could use another drink,” Zayn adds like an afterthought, eyeing Harry as he leans down to nick the blunt from Niall before he can take another drag.  He grins at Niall like he’s doing something unholy, pressing a sloppy kiss to Niall’s cheek before he’s leaning back on his heels to suck in another breath of that sticky smoke.

“Me too,” Niall whispers, wide-eyed while looking up at Harry.  “Or a good fuck.”

Zayn can pick out all of the scattered red lines in Niall’s eyes, the way they’re a bit droopy like that last pull has him staggering toward a beautiful feeling.  It perks up a smile on his lips, nudging Niall roughly with his shoulder until blush pinks his cheeks and he’s looking away from Harry.  It’s one of those nights where Niall doesn’t really care who he fucks, who he might blow, who might go down on him while he sips on another beer.

It’s the creeping end of a summer that’s half-baked on good times and carelessness.

Zayn thinks they all have that feeling but Niall’s one of the few that isn’t scared to act on this whole _‘No_ _Regrets’_ policy they’ve instated.

“m gonna miss this place,” Niall says when his lips are curling around the end of the blunt again, coughing on an exhale like a novice.  Niall has always been shit at smoking but he’s fucking beautiful when he’s high with rosy cheeks, glassy eyes, and the kind of sideways happiness that’s lifting and almost spiritual in nature.

Zayn nods a little, Luke joining them.  Harry hums a response while Phoebe sighs cautiously, Perrie too caught up in some flower child graceless dance that has her wrapping her arms around Harry’s middle and holding on for dear life.  None of them say what they should – it’s an unspoken rule everyone shares at the end of summer right? – but Zayn can feel the way it bricks against the air.  It’s a somberness that doesn’t last long enough because Harry makes some stupid joke about ducks and crossing the road or some shit while Phoebe belts out the opening lines of something wickedly familiar and telling – _Awake on my airplane, awake on my airplane. My skin is bare._

He sort of blames his sister Doniya for his addiction to willfully memorable 90s rock music and the pretense of a fading summer.  He lets the world spin around him, the dark purple sky stitched together by prickling little stars that don’t shine bright enough.  He tips his head back, watching Harry and Perrie trade off the last few hits of the scruffy weed – _Awake on my airplane, I feel so real_ – with clouds of faded blue smoke dancing around their bodies.

Teeth nip kindly at his bottom lip, his tongue rolling across the flesh until its wet and he can taste the last of the dry smoke at the back of his throat.  It’s a pleasant feeling – cloudy and prickly – that has him sliding an arm around Niall’s shoulders in some mild form of comfort.  Maybe Niall hasn’t admitted it but Zayn’s seen it day by day, the way he’s painfully trying not to wish all of this wasn’t going to end.  The way Niall’s acting like he’s okay with this – _Could you take my picture ‘cause I don’t wanna_ _remember_ – and he’s ready to get back to Durham.

He’s not.  In fact, maybe none of them are ready for teenage wasteland to become obsolete and just another crease in their scrapbook of life.

“The shit burgers down at the diner,” Harry says with a giggle, then a laugh, then something that growls like a snicker.

“That right fantastic coffee that Mary makes every single morning,” Phoebe says with a grin, resting her head on Zayn’s shoulder for a moment with faded words hummed across her lips – _I don’t believe in sanctity or hypocrisy._

“The waves,” Perrie says dreamily, her cheeks round and porcelain.

“Friday nights,” Zayn says softly with a grin spread across his lips.

“Monday mornings,” Niall adds with a quiet snort.

Zayn bites down on his lip, nodding.  Sundays on the beach, caught under the sun before they were crowded around bonfires and passing cheap six packs around like some form of congratulations for making it out of another week alive.  Toasts that were loud into the night, the waves kicking out a backbeat that was almost drown out under their laughter and forgotten hopes of being anything other than young adults on a high.

“Lou’s parties,” Phoebe giggles out, her eyelids heavy with silky smiles replacing usually perked up ones.

“Hangovers,” Luke adds lowly, his voice dipping when eyes fall on him.  “Good weed.”

“Good weed,” Harry repeats with a nod, round green eyes looking over Niall for a moment.  A sinful smile graces over cherry lips, the hint of a dimple pushing against his cheek.  “Great fucks.”

“Bloody fantastic shags,” Perrie barks out with a laugh, still curled around Harry.

“Summer love,” Phoebe offers, ever the poetic dreamer.

Zayn smiles at her, something twitching at the corners of his lips because he doesn’t know if he can hold it.  He doesn’t know if he believes it – _Could everyone agree that no one should be left alone._   He watches Calum try helplessly to do some tricks on his new board, the drag of the wheels against the road echoing against the air.  Ashton’s trying to mimic him, unsure feet and dicey kick-ups that are disappointing in structure and effort.

“Great mates,” Niall sighs out, sinking a little until he looks defeated.

“Best mates,” Zayn agrees, tightening his arm around Niall’s round shoulders.  He presses a gentle kiss to Niall’s hairline, smelling the scruff of salt and sand there.

“The kind of mates you never forget,” Harry says with a tight grin, kicking at Niall’s foot until he’s looking up, hope crowding blue eyes.  Green eyes reflect those same thoughts and it’s quiet for too long while Niall and Harry give each other looks that are no longer flirty and dangerous.

They’re careful and understanding.

Zayn bites down on his lip and wonders why he’d spent so much of the summer not realizing how honestly great Harry really is.  He wonders why he missed out on getting to know people like Louis or Harry or even Perrie and Jade because they’re all sort of brilliant.  They’re all memorable.  They’re all just – _And I feel like a newborn, kicking and screaming_ – embers from a dying flame that float brightly in the wind.

Harry fits Niall’s bright pink sunglasses over his face a little later, arm strewn around Perrie’s shoulder as they whisper and she giggles into his neck like she’s swallowed up in her high.  Harry’s got long fingers rubbing her bare shoulder, little flicks to his grin that reminds Zayn that he’s not above making the best of every moment.  He’s not jealous, just observant of it all.  Harry’s not really as choosy as he thought and it would seem Perrie’s not against falling for his mock charm.

There’s a thrum in his own mind as he takes a few puffs off a cigarette he’s lit a few minutes after the ash of the weed has blanketed the sky around them.  His high is tipping right to left, little smiles directed at Niall as he poorly attempts to learn a few basic tricks from Calum, tripping over the skateboard more times than he successfully glides on it and it’s quite comical with Phoebe chatting quietly with Luke, still on the curb with a glow to their faces.

The sky is brushed in streaks of silver from the pulsing moon and he likes the way the stars draw out shapes he can’t piece together but tries to beneath the buzz in his mind.  He sniffs at the air – dead ocean turning slowly – and watches a few people trickle down from the house as if they’re trying to breathe in sanity before walking away into the shadows.  He catches Leigh-Anne and Jesy clinging to each other with mascara darkening their eyes and tears slipping down their cheeks like they’re really going to miss each other after this.  Max’s dragging his heels down the car park with Aiden following, a significant distance that reminds Zayn that little affair was just for a good shag and something to do.  It’s over now, just like summer.

He rocks on his heels, the smoke curling along his tongue.  After he blows it out, his teeth nibble at his lip.  He watches the way the moon and the street lamps bathe the road in oranges, whites, muted yellows.  He kicks at broken sidewalk, lifting his cigarette for another drag.  It’s a nice fuzzy feeling, everything almost numb for each breathe he takes in and the call of thoughts in his mind seem to lower in decibel and effect.

A smile curls over his lips when the wind soars down over his skin, his head tilting.  He thinks about Liam, the burnt off ash from his cigarette flicked away when he puts it to his lips again.  A few nights under this moon, talking through graceful intoxication on Zayn’s part and little hiccups from a beer or two on Liam’s end.  The crackle of a blistering fire, summer sticking to their skin while they’re far enough from everyone else for each little breath they share to feel private.  The churn of the waves, the repeated sounds of crickets creating symphonies that rival Mozart and the cool dip of a kindling friendship that might not have been meant to be but it is.  It just _is_.

Liam’s words in his ears – _“I’d be Batman.  If I could be any superhero, I’d be Bruce Wayne, no doubt.”_ – and his teeth press further against his lip.  There’s a curl to his smile, his cheeks lifting.  His cigarette rests between his fingers, the smoke from the last drag long gone and chasing bits of the wind.  He nods to himself.  Liam would be Batman.  He would pick someone who, without the fancy costume and gadgets, was just normal.  Just like Liam.  Underneath all of the superhero bravado and expectation, Liam was just like everyone else.  Except he wasn’t.

Zayn likes that about him.

Another puff, a strong inhale this time, and he can remember the glide of Liam’s smile when he said, “I’d be _you_.”  It was an offbeat reply, something stupid and silly but Zayn meant it.  He wouldn’t be Tony Stark – a little too obvious with the looks, the mystery, the problematic fit chap who hides everything behind armor – or Clark Kent.  Kyle Rayner, maybe.  He’d settle for the Flash even, but none of that felt real.

That Thursday afternoon, hidden beneath the blanket of the sun and crackling waves, he remembers Liam pulling some five year old girl from the sweep of a strong current.  He remembers Liam carrying that helpless crying little girl with those strong arms curled around her shivering body.  He can see the way Liam’s large hand looked against her small forehead, pushing back her dripping hair until large blue eyes looked up into his with a little less panic and a little more gratitude.  The way a smile creased Liam’s lips when he delivered her to her parents, shyness covering up his heroism.  He’d pulled a little girl from the waves, saved her before she drowned, carried her across the too hot sand with steady feet and the kind of balanced warmness that Zayn could never attain.

Liam wasn’t the kind of guy looking for a _‘thank you’_ and a heap of praise.  He wasn’t some theatrical showoff like those twats from _Baywatch_.  He was the sort of hero that just wanted someone to have another day to breathe in this beautiful thing called life.

And Liam etched himself into Zayn’s heart in that one hazy moment, burning everything else away until he can’t even taste the ones he’s fell for before.

**

The house is a little less littered with bodies but he still has to push through a few crowds, dodge the group surrounding the table of beer pong, and there’s even a loud, unruly game of _I Never Ever…_ lit up in one of the living areas where the music doesn’t flood so hard against the eardrums.  He doesn’t take count for who’s already left or the way the alcohol isn’t filling the cups as quickly as before, everyone sunken into their own little high of mixed drinks and quick shots, but he could name a few of the missing bodies if he tried.  Niall’s one of them, Liam too.  He watches Harry lead Perrie and Jade up the steps toward the bedrooms and he doesn’t have to calculate too many equations to know that’s going to end happily for the three of them.

He’s edging off of his high, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, the softening stretch of his hair, dragging along the stubble lining his jaw.  He drums his fingers along his chest as he moves room to room, gnawing at his bottom lip while searching out another cup of something that’s cooler this time, a little less burn against his tongue.  He bottles past Eleanor and Nick dancing together in the middle of a hall, avoiding reaching fingers from Caroline who either wants a dance – he doesn’t do that, _ever_ – or a snog because Harry or Olly are unavailable.  He pretends not to see her, rifling through his pockets for another cigarette and he doesn’t particularly feel like being bothered by the large mass of people who have taken up the deck now.

There’s a few locked doors throughout the house, rooms he’s never been in and never really plans to.  The loo has a nice long line that chaffs against his senses because, fuck, he just wants somewhere to go for a quick smoke and a silence to his thoughts.  He just wants to nudge past that girl Taylor who’s still going on and on about Harry to some drunken chap.  He looks more interested in seeing those delicately red lips wrapped around his prick rather than listening to her shrill voice – “And he was like, _‘Uh, could you just, maybe, get on your knees,’_ like I’m some cheap whore.  I gave the little shit a handjob instead because we are like, I don’t know, incompatible.”  He wants to kick down any of these rooms, the ones that are locked or have a stupid piece of clothing hanging off the knob like that’s supposed to fucking mean something – really, he doesn’t get that code at all.

He manages to press open a door down the long stretch of hallway upstairs, sighing happily because it’s dark and the right kind of space where he can sit on the ledge of the window and smoke in peace.  But there’s music playing, a shifting around in the dark and scattered clothing from previous occupants.  There’s muffled noises, a slurp.  A fucking _slurp_ and then a moan and Zayn needs to get the fuck out because he’s not all that into exhibitionism – not that he doesn’t like a good role play during a cheap porno or maybe getting off to someone on Skype every now and again – but he freezes.  He freezes with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his lighter flicking out a flame and Niall standing in the middle of a heap of clothing with Louis on his knees.

Louis fucking Tomlinson on his knees with Zayn’s best mate’s cock between his lips.

The definition of Niall’s cock shows against Louis’ cheek, usually hard blue eyes closed while Louis breathes through his nose and takes Niall further in.  Niall’s fingers, pale and bony, buried in Louis’ wrecked hair with his trousers around his knees and his shirt rucked up.  A slow push of hips, Louis’ groaning around Niall’s prick, a hand buried in his own trousers while he palms himself to the beat of Niall fucking his mouth.  The soft purse of Niall’s lips, his tongue licking over them, looking down at Louis like he’s amazing at what he does.  The moon tracing over Niall’s slumped shoulders, his skin a gleaming silver as he cups the back of Louis’ skull and Louis welcomes it, batting his eyes open in a silent plea that echoes a rattling groan against Niall’s chest.

Sharp breaths like Niall’s close – Zayn’s heard it before when Niall would wank off in the middle of the night like he wasn’t noisy and Zayn could sleep through the sound off flesh smacking flesh in the dark – and Louis is speeding up against the pulse of quiet music.  It’s sloppy and, yeah, Louis isn’t an amateur to this.  No, he deep throats Niall like he’s devoid of a gag reflex and a fucking care about the fact that he’s going down on someone he hates.

He might hate Niall but he’s absolutely in love with Niall’s cock.

“Shit,” Zayn hisses, backing away quickly and he’s stumbling more than he’s moving gracefully.

Louis slips off Niall’s cock, the sharp groan of displeasure replaced by an aching gasp, Niall stroking himself quickly until one, two, oh fuck, that was disturbing.  The way Louis’ looking at Zayn with wide blue eyes, Niall painting Louis’ neck in sticky ivory while panting and looking completely ruined.  His cheeks are flushed red, Zayn’s own face pale and ghostly, and Louis’ balking at the come that flicks against his cheek like Niall can’t help but finish himself despite the fact that his best mate is glaring at him in horror.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Louis sighs, deflated and a little annoyed.  He’s wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, pink lips swollen and ruddy now.

“Sorry,” Niall mutters, dragging his teeth along his lip.  He looks embarrassed, destroyed… fucking smiling with the relief that’s rushing over him from a good nut.

Zayn’s not exactly proud – how can he be right now? – but there is a tinge of pride sinking into his system from the wave of a high he’s trying to ride out.

Louis is a dick and Niall’s managed to get his between Louis’ puckered lips.

“Get the fuck out, yeah?” Louis hisses, his fingers curling into fists at his sides and he’s still crouched down, his face wrinkled in anger while Niall’s come sticks to his skin.

“Fuck Zaynie,” Niall giggles out, clouded by his own high.

“Unbelievable,” Louis groans, punching lightly at Niall’s thigh before adjusting his straining cock that’s pushing at the fabric of his trousers.  “Do you mind?”

He’s certain neither one of them know the protocol in situations like this – do they fist bump and pat each other on the back or shriek because, _fuck_ , best mates don’t see each other getting head from other blokes – but he nods at Niall for a moment before flipping Louis off, yanking the door shut loudly.  He leans against a wall, little bursts of breathes escaping him while his chest heaves and, fuck, he doesn’t know how he’ll ever burn that image from his mind.

Zayn scrubs the heel of his palm down his face, really needing that fucking cigarette now.  He can hear the little thumps from inside the room, massively disturbed by the choked moans and the way he thinks a headboard is rocking a little unkindly against the wall and he can’t breathe.  Not properly.  His buzz, the summer fizzling high he had pulls away too quickly and it’s sobering in the worst way.  Why the fuck was he even here?

He thinks the world forgot him a long, long time ago.

There’s bursts of orange and lily white behind his eyelids as he sinks down the wall a little, fucking angry and dissatisfied because he’s certain he dropped his cigarette in the room.  He’s not willing to push the door back open just to get it because he doesn’t want to know if that’s Niall’s muffled mewling or if Louis’ fucking him against rumpled sheets – maybe Niall’s screwing Louis against the wall for the best kind of hate sex – and he needs to run away.  But he doesn’t because where the fuck was he going?

A numbing feeling sinks over his mind, drifts down his neck, slides over his shoulders and makes an uncomfortable slide through his chest.  It rises and falls, heavy on each breath, and he watches Danielle slink by him, fingers twined with Matt’s before she’s grinning over her should like Zayn can actually stand her.  Like he chats with her on a regular basis and they share anything in common other than Liam.

 _Liam_.

She’s sinking into one of the rooms, hands tangled in someone else’s.  Someone who’s _not_ Liam.  Someone who doesn’t have those nice features, softness around the corners of his eyes, beaming smile that accents beautiful lips.  Someone who doesn’t have Liam’s build or his sparking glow like a dusting of the sun in the night.  Some chap who doesn’t look like Liam, talk like Liam, doesn’t even breathe like Liam and, fuck, that hurts.

It’s a blur of thoughts, little musings that quake against the back of his mind before the door is shutting.  Suddenly, that cigarette isn’t enough because Danielle’s with someone other than Liam.  And maybe he should be happy about that but he’s not.  He’s not and he knows why.

He knows it means Liam’s somewhere, defeated and aching.

He wants to go home, or back to Durham.  He wants to get away from this feeling of an epic summer that should’ve been much more carefree and devoid of feelings.  Except, it’s too late and he’s moving down the hall, fingers prickling with concern as he makes his way through the house and does his best to tell himself he’s not looking for Liam but he is.  He’s trying to piece together something he isn’t quite sure will be fixable without Zayn breaking in half too.

**

The waves shift and turn, looking almost ink and purple against the night.  They tumble over each other, never really reaching their full peak but just high enough that Zayn imagines you could get a good surf – or maybe a float on the belly of a wave – out of all of it.  The stars light up a little brighter out here like plinking Christmas lights against a smooth marble background.  The grainy sand is cool between his toes, his jeans rolled up just enough that if the water sinks close, they won’t be ruined.

He hates being this close to the water.  He does his best not to think about drowning and he thinks that’s kind of ironic because he feels like he’s been suffocating beneath a sheet of water for days now.  He feels like he can’t swim through life toward something that resembles a safe haven and everything just crashes down over him, around him, swirling sharp and fast.  But he pushes all of that off while the night hums around him, his feet leading him down the sand toward that body that’s slumped forward with forearms resting on top of knees, legs pulled close to a chest, a head tilted downward in thought with a collection of empty beer cans creating a breadcrumb trail back home.

Zayn knew he’d find Liam down here.  Maybe it was instinct or the way he knew how much Liam really did love this beach.  It’s a little portion right behind the beach house with soft sand, the best waves, a wrecked piece of land that’s been long abandoned by town’s people in favor of that open slab of beach that simmers in the sun and looks brilliantly inviting in the daylight.  But Liam likes this scruffy piece where the sand meets the water with little room to breathe anything other than the sea and the peppermint daze of the August air.  It reminds Zayn of Toad the Wet Sprocket in the middle of June – _All I want is to feel this way. To be this close, to feel the same_ – under the shade of that large tree in his backyard with the edge of summer just kicking in.  He wonders what this place does for Liam.

When he sinks down into the sand, pulling his own knees close to his body with his feet running from the lapping water nearby, the air feels insanely warm and comforting.  His shoulder presses to Liam’s, feels the way Liam trembles with a quiet whimper, the back of his hand scrubbing over his face to blot away thick tears that leave little, angry red lines across his eyes.  The edge of his nose is pink, his skin hardened without that filling color it usually carries.  He looks coiled into himself and Zayn bites down on his lip to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Liam into his arms.

“’m okay,” Liam whispers, his voice choked.  They both know he’s lying but Zayn remains silent.  “Just gonna miss this place and the summer, y’know.  It feels like home.”

“It does?”

Liam nods, a wet laugh edging past his lips as he lifts his head.  His cheeks have a scattering of tear stains against them like crystal spider webs over a gold surface.  Zayn’s fingers itch and his chest swells.  He watches Liam while Liam watches the waves.

Zayn holds his breath while Liam peels a beer from its resting spot in the sand.  He catches the way Liam makes a face after a long sip like he hates it but it’s doing enough to clear his mind or dull him into a thicket of nothingness.  He thinks maybe he’s doing Liam a favor by being quiet, creating a place where Liam feels comfortable but maybe he’s doing more damage than good because Liam’s not big on talking about things that bother him.  Zayn’s learned that over time and thinks, well, he’s the same way too.

“Great party,” Liam says with a faded laugh.  Another sip, another wincing expression.

“It’s sick,” Zayn agrees, chewing on his words.  “Epic.”

Liam nods, a put on smile that seems genuine underneath the layers.  Zayn leans back to admire it, keeping a steady expression when Liam turns his head to present it properly for him.  He loves the way Liam’s cheeks push up, his nose scrunching, the way his fuzzy eyebrows look against those eyes.

“Leaving soon?”

Zayn nods, takes in a sharp breath like he doesn’t want to say it out loud.  Not in front of Liam, at least.

“Tomorrow,” Zayn finally mutters, digging his toes into the sand.  The wind breaks off the water, a chill rinsing over them.

Liam smiles a little quieter, something rounding the corners of his mouth like a frown.  It doesn’t take flight like a kite in the wind but it holds there for a minute, hidden behind a can of beer as Liam takes a slow sip.

“Don’t wan’ you too,” Liam admits, his voice endeared by the way his brow lowers.  “I mean, you know, go away.”

 _Me neither_ , Zayn thinks but he doesn’t have the courage to utter it just yet.  He wonders how long he has before that time completely escapes him and whatever it is he’s wanting to confess to Liam just dies away like the heat of August beneath the sun.

“Where am I gonna find someone like you?” Liam laughs out, the sound bitter.  He tips his head back, finishing the beer before cracking open another one while chucking the empty can to join the zig-zag pattern of the other ones laid across the sand.

Zayn shrugs, pushing out a small smile.  He hopes the blush is a filtered pink rather than something obnoxiously apparent.

“You want to talk about it?” Zayn offers, leaning forward until his knees are against his chest and his fingers can drag down into the sand near his feet.  He doesn’t flinch away when Liam’s fingers join his, sweeping back to run dull nails over the outline of a bird tattoo on the back of Zayn’s hand.

Liam’s fingers are cold but he can still feel the beat of something else there, the way they flicker across his skin like the ghost of a wind drifting downward.  The coast is distended out behind Liam and it’s a little too dreamy and harrowing, the way Zayn’s never going to forget this.  Just this second where Liam’s face looks soft, the tinge of fear in his eyes backing off because he trusts Zayn.  He honestly does.

Liam takes a long swallow of his new beer, his face a little less pinched.  There’s truth rounding his lips, a smoked out look to his eyes like little tears are trying to cloud the brown again.  Flickers of honey colors the brown, drops of rusted gold that Zayn’s never noticed before.  The beat of a fiery streak of heat strokes them and Liam leans in a little until their shoulders nudge and the warmth becomes like fiberglass.

Zayn swallows it all, resting his cheek on his knee while watching Liam chew out the idea of confessing everything before he sighs.

“She kissed me.  It was sweet and just like we used to be before she told me I was a nice guy,” Liam admits, the words carried by stuttered breaths.  “And then she told me I’m not the kind of relationship she wants.  Just for summer.”

Zayn’s brow creases, his lips stilled because a frown is biting at them.  Liam’s laughing, choked and broken, before he’s take another swallow of lukewarm beer.  The crack in his smile, wistful as it wants to be, makes Zayn narrow his eyes and stroke his fingers against Liam’s ankle, right up along that faint hair on his legs.  His thumb rests just at the bottom of Liam’s calf, waiting on a shaky sigh to pass Liam’s lips before he’s rubbing kindly at Liam’s skin.

“She wasn’t rude but, hell, what the fuck, y’know?” Liam huffs out, shaking his head.  The tears line his eyelids this time, thick, unwanted.  Zayn doesn’t reach out to wipe them away though his heart tells him to.

Liam coughs out another laugh, rubbing at his eyes until everything is smudged and brushed away.  His lashes stick together, everything bright and brilliant about him beaten down into small, fractured pieces.  It’s a little too much but Zayn knew better than to drag himself down here.  He knew how this would feel – _There is not a single word in the whole world that could describe the hurt_ – and he lets it sink in for Liam’s sake.

“She said it and she danced with another chap.  Then another.  Two at a time.”

Zayn feels the beat of his heart, loud and angry, traces his fingers over Liam’s shin while Liam settles his eyes on the break of another wave.  There’s a soft sniffle, nothing pathetic in the sound, and Liam’s sighing against the wind.  Zayn joins him, curling his words against his tongue before letting them drop back down to his stomach.

“It’s not like I ever thought she was going to be something I spent the rest of my life with,” Liam confesses, a tepidness to his already drown out voice.  There’s a calm curl to his lips, a sneer like he’s just figured something out.  “My mum would hate her.”

Zayn snorts.  He imagines Liam’s mum, his entire family, would never get the appeal.  Not the physical side because, obviously, Danielle was gorgeous.  No, it’s the way she carries herself.  The way everything is a bit below her though she pretends it’s not.  It’s the hollow in her voice like seashells and the drum of thunder over the ocean.  They just don’t fit.

They don’t fit like Liam and Zayn’s hands, Liam dragging his fingers over Zayn’s knuckles, rubbing at the rough patch of skin on the back of Zayn’s hand until Liam’s hand covers Zayn’s against Liam’s leg.  Just a curl of fingers fitting between Zayn’s and they’re quiet for a moment, watching the water rather than the way their hands slide together.  The trace of northern lights and bursting stars in the sky, Liam’s thumb rubbing against the back of Zayn’s hand until he’s cooled and lost in a breath of air that feels like smoke against his lungs.

“I just figured,” Liam swallows, lips finally sinking into a frown.  Zayn tenses – _The dullest knife just sawing back and forth_ – before Liam continues, “She’s the only person who’s ever really wanted me, you know?  I mean, I’ve had a couple of girlfriends back home but I never really sorted that they liked me much.  Not enough to keep me around.  Not enough that I was special to them, memorable.”

It’s a kick to the gut – _And ripping through the softest skin there ever was_ – and Zayn wonders how anyone in this world couldn’t find Liam memorable.  How wasn’t he someone’s complete world like he was… fuck, like he was _Zayn’s_.

“And they were all really nice about it.  Letting me down.  Letting me think I’m not a complete waste of time but,” Liam pauses, his nose wrinkling.  He licks at his lips, teeth biting down on a corner of his mouth.  “But, come on, it’s obvious, right?  Like I won’t have anyone else.  I won’t be anyone’s _something_.”

The waves howl for a moment, drifting up and spiking a cold touch against their toes.  Zayn shivers, Liam remaining still like the water is calming.  The drift of the wind singing a soft song against the purple sky – _And I, I hate to see your heart break. I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close but I’ve been there before_ – and Liam scoots a little closer, sliding an arm around the small of Zayn’s back like he needs to get closer.  Like he’s comforting Zayn when they both know it’s supposed to be the other way around.  Liam’s words aren’t supposed to splinter Zayn but they do.

Fuck, they really do.

“I get it,” Liam whispers, his chin tucked onto Zayn’s shoulder, his forehead against Zayn’s temple.  “I’m just Liam, right?  I’m still young and I can still find someone and, yeah, it’ll hurt less later on when I – “

Zayn shakes his head quickly, turning a little, ignoring the way their noses brush.  He can’t really see into Liam’s eyes from his angle but he can taste Liam’s beer-soaked breath, the softness of his skin as he reaches over and cups Liam’s cheek.  Scruff bites at the palm of his hand, the waves beating at their feet again and rushing up to their ankles.  The polite glow of the moon shines over their skin until Zayn’s breathing is a little too fast and Liam’s a little too calm under Zayn’s touch.

“I would,” Zayn starts, the words like glass on his tongue, “I would _kill_ for someone like you.  The kind of guy that I can depend on.  The kind of lad who makes me feel like I’m amazing even though I know ‘m not.  I’m quite daft and selfish but you’d make me feel like I’m honest and good.  You would just… _fuck_ , you’re someone special.  You’re someone’s something.”

Liam nods slowly, blinking on a smile.  There’s a huff of laughter, the sound a little ridiculous but Zayn doesn’t mind.

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, his thumb running over Liam’s ear, his fingers spreading against Liam’s cheek.  “I really do.”

“You’re being nice.”

“ _Honest_ ,” Zayn corrects him quickly, chewing on his lip.  “’s just, you make me want to do stuff like that.”

“Like what?” Liam asks, eyes on Zayn’s mouth rather than looking back at him.

Zayn loves the way Liam’s fingers curl around his waist, the offset sound of a whistling ocean dancing in the distance even though it’s so close.  He feels like the world slid away a long time ago and it’s just them.  It’s just the dark, the moon, and their shared oxygen.

“Like I want to be honest.  Like I want to be great.  Like I want to be,” Zayn pauses, chuckling.  He looks up through his lashes, finding Liam’s eyes.  “Like I want to be Bruce Wayne.”

Liam barks out a laugh, staying close.  He doesn’t react when Zayn nuzzles the edges of their noses together, brings their faces closer but his eyes crinkle just along the edges – _Love happens all the time to people who aren’t kind. And heroes who are blind._

“You’re quite mental,” Liam tells him, the pucker of a smile flowing over his lips.

Zayn bites down a little harder on his lip, smirking.  “Could be.”

“You really think I am?” Liam wonders, his voice light and airy.  “Something to someone?”

“I think you’re something to loads of people,” Zayn says, dancing around it.  It’s not uncommon, the way he can avoid things but it’s impossibly easy with Liam.  He’s practiced it enough.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

Liam nods, a bitten off smile following.  “’m something special to you?”

Zayn giggles, drifting on a feeling he’s not supposed to walk with.  “Fuck yeah.”

“Really?”

Liam leans up, closer, and he smells amazing.  There’s a dopey grin on his lips, want washed beneath need.  A need for something.  Something Zayn wants to give him.

“You’re daft.”

“Just tell me,” Liam pleads, shifting his head, eyes fluttering open and closed – _Who wants an awkward silent mystery?_

“Tell you?”

“ _Please_.”

Zayn nods, closing the space.  Their lips tease around each other, little pushes that never completely seal them together and the sand is wet beneath their feet.  The stars spin like colorful merry-go-rounds and Liam licks his lips, his nose brushing Zayn’s again.  Patience bears down on him and he knows this has to be Liam’s choice.  It has to be Liam’s want.

Liam has to make the first move.

“You make me feel brilliant,” Zayn whispers, another slow chase of lips that has Zayn’s teeth catching Liam’s top lip.  A quiet groan, shaky breaths that are hush, hush.  “Liam, I don’t want to go.  Don’t wan’ you to go.”

The water washes over their feet again and the heat burns thicker.  The air is loud and impressively quiet too.  Liam crawls that small distance and Zayn’s eyes flutter shut before Liam’s lips are against his, everything lit up by a few words that still haven’t been said.  Their world banked by sand and sea and purple skies decorated in hollowed out stars that look down on them with blinking eyes.

Liam’s fingers dig into his hip, Zayn’s own fingers splayed across Liam’s cheek until his palm knows exactly how soft Liam’s skin is.  He wonders if Liam can taste the weed, sticky alcohol, peppermint gum he was chewing while puffing on a cigarette an hour ago.  He presses a little firmer, swallowing hushed down moans Liam’s keeping in his throat.  It’s a stiff glide, Zayn pulling back to wet his lips before it’s a downward spiral into absolute brilliance.  Little sparks of fireworks and their lips rocking back and forth.

Liam’s mouth parts when Zayn nudges it with his tongue, something sweet in Liam’s mouth like pineapple juice and expensive rum.  A quiet rush through his system and this is better than any high he’s had all night.  The fumbling of little kisses drawn into longer ones, Liam’s tongue licking at his teeth, curling against the roof of Zayn’s mouth.  Desperate pushes, a small fight for power that’s settled by Zayn sighing into another kiss and Liam willingly let Zayn set the pace.  Just a nip of teeth along Liam’s bottom lip, a smile from Liam’s lips when Zayn softens his touches, fingers stroking up the buzzed sides of Liam’s head until they tangle into the thick hair at the top.

There’s a refrain of noise, just the slide of lips, until little breaths escape Liam’s mouth and Zayn’s pulling back for his own strip of oxygen.  Fingers shift beneath his shirt, palm at pieces of his skin while he runs a hand up Liam’s leg, right over his clothed thigh.  The bristles of Liam’s scruff bite at Zayn’s skin, his forehead nudging at Liam’s chin until Liam leans his head back and Zayn bites down against that birthmark on Liam’s neck.  A hiss, an instrumental of sharp breaths as Zayn licks at Liam’s neck and Liam’s hand strokes over Zayn’s chest.  Puckered lips over Liam’s satiny skin, the taste of sweat and salt still there, the sting of fading cologne right at his collarbone until Liam’s sliding his fingers into that space puckering between the back of Zayn’s jeans and his skin.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes out, pushing him back and they’re panting, the air thicker than before.  There’s a knotting in his stomach, his hand cupping the back of Liam’s neck.  And Liam smiles, all bright and excited, inching up and forward to kiss Zayn again.

It’s rough, written in dark ink across Zayn’s heart.  Its twisting tongues, stroked with lust and care.  Zayn’s shaking, not really sure if he should move left or right, push Liam down into the sand and fucking go down on him.  He could suck Liam’s dick right here in the sand with the waves splashing against their clothes and Liam letting out those little breathy pants that are making Zayn’s cock harder than it’s been in weeks.  But he doesn’t.  He lets Liam kiss his lips until Liam’s a ball of unrestrained nerves that quiet down with each stroke of Zayn’s tongue.

“’m so,” Zayn sighs, their foreheads pressed together, his lips aching.  “’m so fucked Liam.”

Liam giggles, shaking his head.  “No, you’re not.”

“’m leaving.”

“So?”

“So,” Zayn drags the word out for a beat, puckering his lips.  Liam presses a kiss against them, chaste and friendly.  “So I waited too long and, fuck, we’re not gonna see each other.  You’re there and I’m all the way – “

“Shut up,” Liam says, his voice playful and sweet.  “Just shut it, Zayn.  I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“But – “

Liam leans forward for another kiss, this one seconds longer.  When he pulls back, a glazed over look in his eyes, Zayn nods.  This isn’t about what happens in a few hours or months from now.  It’s about right now, under the heat of the summer night, the whistling moon and burnt off high of _‘no regrets.’_

Fuck you Niall Horan.

He wants to ask Liam what all of this means, with Liam pressing little kisses to the corner of his mouth, against his cheek, down over his chin and jaw.  He wants those fingers to stop feeling so warm over his skin, tracing little patches that Liam’s probably learning like he’ll have a chance to do this again.  He wants the quick kisses they share with little ticking laughs and doped up smiles to not mean the world or to not suddenly feel so haunting like they could’ve and should’ve done this sooner.  The march of the night moving sweetly over them until Liam’s just rubbing his lips over Zayn’s, swollen and red, while Zayn breathes in Liam’s scent with closed eyes – _For all the air that’s in your lungs. For all the joy that is to come._

“Stop thinking,” Liam tells him with a smirk and he sounds sober.  He sounds conscious of what he’s doing, rubbing down at his crotch and Zayn wants to see the outline of his cock beneath that large hand but he settles for rubbing at his own, shifting his teeth against his lip to silence a moan.  It feels good, just a pinch of relief that juts up against his palm until Liam looks fucking ruined and ready to bury himself inside of Zayn.

He’d like that.  Fuck, he just wants to kiss Liam some more.

“You think too much,” Liam adds after the silence has reached its height of being okay and slightly awkward.

“I do.”

“This is okay, right?” Liam asks, pulling his hand from between his legs and resting it on Zayn’s cheek.  It’s hot, searing Zayn’s skin until he’s not sure he can take it.

Zayn swallows thickly, nodding.  He’s certain it is though he doesn’t really have the words to tell Liam that.

“It’s all I want,” Zayn admits, his voice a little unsteady but he’s fine with that.  He just wants the words out of his mouth.  They’re no longer on repeat in his head and it flickers out like the flame of a candle.  It all dies and he feels… at ease.

“You’re not just – “

“All I want, Liam,” Zayn says quickly, swooping forward for a quick kiss that’s just some sort of formal way of saying what his mouth can’t.  “Trust me, ‘kay?”

“I do.”

“You do,” Zayn whispers, fighting against that stupid smile rounding his mouth.

Liam nods, grinning back.  He looks like something’s washed away Danielle and disappointment and the ending summer that keeps reminding Zayn the further he falls, the more it’s going to hurt.

He knows better but he just can’t find it in himself to give a shit.

Liam knocks their shoulders together with a beat up smile.  His cheeks are lifted high, the dance of the moon showing their roundness with his eyes becoming small little slits of what they used to be.  His nose scrunches in that sickeningly adorable way that Zayn would find disgusting on anyone else’s face but Liam’s.  It’s the ash of a freshly lit cigarette, the way it all dances over Liam’s face like this is where he wants to be.  Like he couldn’t be any happier with the ocean still tucking bubbling waves over their toes and a map of their story written in beer cans across the sand.  A neat little pink to his cheeks with Zayn tracing every little freckle of his skin before Liam’s linking their fingers and giving Zayn a little tug.

“C’mon,” Liam says before standing, dusting himself off a little while still holding Zayn’s hand.

“Hmm,” Zayn hums, not really wanting to leave this spot.  He thinks it might be his new favorite place.

“Come with me,” Liam begs, still pulling at Zayn.

“Where?” Zayn asks, letting Liam yank him up until he’s upright and nearly tripping into Liam.  He willingly collides with Liam’s chest, those strong arms curling around him.

“Trust me?”

Zayn’s lips purse sideways, his brow lifted.  He wants to kiss away that smugness fitting against Liam’s face.  It’s more Louis than it is Liam and it’s a constant reminder who Liam’s best mate is.  He wonders if Liam looks better on his knees than Louis did.

“Of course,” Zayn sighs out with a grin.

There’s a kick to Liam’s smile then, swelling like those two words burst against his heart.  Zayn thinks he looks silly and giddy and childish but it’s not half as annoying as Zayn thought it would be.  In fact, Zayn wonders if he can sketch out that face across a blank sheet of paper, capture each little wrinkle and dimple.  He wonders if he could find the right colors to shade in Liam’s eyes, pinking his lips and stroking out the blush that sits high on his cheeks – _For all the things that you’re alive to feel. Just let the pain remind you that hearts can heal._

“C’mon then,” Liam insists, pulling at Zayn again.

Zayn shuffles with him in the sand and he doesn’t know why he’s smiling so hard.  He doesn’t know why he’s following Liam, hand in hand, their toes digging up little mounds while the sound of the sea drifts further and further away.  But he doesn’t question Liam.  He feels the need to but doesn’t because he’s not fucking this up.

He’s not risking Liam realizing what an idiot he must be to want to be anywhere with Zayn when this will all shatter and wash away in a few hours.

It’s a sad, sad reality but Zayn was never good with dealing with such trivial things like reality.

**

Zayn doesn’t like walking through the quiet neighborhoods that lead up to the beach houses in small clusters like broken fences that separate the modest families from the insanely rich and pretentious ones.  They always look so homely and safe and guarded by nosy neighbors who want to know what you drive, what you’re wearing, why you have company over so late at night when you should be sleep.  He imagines the kids play hopscotch in the street while painting the sidewalks in colorful chalk before a good game of sloppy footie.  There’s probably gatherings at someone’s home when a new neighbor moves in, though that probably doesn’t happen too often.  This town is the kind of place you’re born into and don’t leave until you’re forced to.  The same house you grew up in you never leave once your parents die, raising your own kids there with the same creaking steps and shaky banister that was around when you were a child.

He prefers making his way down the back roads with Niall, out of sight and scrutiny.  He’s convinced Niall long ago that it was Niall’s idea to do this, makes Niall think it’s because they like to toke up and sip on fizzing alcohol without the entire town thinking they’re some kind of threat to their peaceful inhabitance.  He’s chuffed with the way Niall goes along with it all, mockingly walking like he’s taller than Zayn and smarter too.

He loves that little fuck, he swears he does.

All of the houses are nearly the same, neatly placed close together so that little fence dividing them is the only separation from yard to yard.  The grass is an ivy green, trimmed perfectly from lot to lot with posh mailboxes and tike-sized bicycles parked in the front of a few. The shutters on a few of the houses are a faded cherry, some a pale cream that’s probably sparkling white beneath the simmer of the sun.  There’s nice convertibles, mini vans, a Mercedes or two spread down the long length of the street, some hidden behind the garage door of the car parks.  Flower beds are lining walkways, a nice array of two story homes that look brilliantly more attractive than the house Zayn grew up in as a kid.  All of the lights are out from house to house, just a scattering of street lamps that light up the pristinely paved road.  The dew is already starting to stick to the grass like a galaxy of stars against the green, everything lit up like snowflakes by the haloing white glow from above.

Liam’s not shy about holding Zayn’s hand, never really releasing it once they escaped the dusty scent of the beach to this evergreen landscape.  Their fingers are tangled, Liam leading him through the neighborhood with heavy footsteps and that stuttering sound of Zayn’s heart in his ears – _Every time I close my eyes, I can touch the colors around me_.  It’s a zig-zag through a few yards, Liam moving like he doesn’t seem to give a shit that they’re trampling scattered flowers or ruffling the well-trimmed lawns.  There’s a glowing smile on his lips, a shattered stream of browns in his eyes.  His cheeks are rounding and wide, his nose wrinkling with a quiet laugh when Zayn offers him an unsure look.

“Trust me?”

Liam’s asked the question at least a dozen times since they climbed the hill past Louis’ house, stumbled down a few roads before easing into this neighborhood.  Zayn thinks he tired of hearing it the first _five_ times but he nods each time like it’s the first time because, honestly, he does.  He trusts Liam and his heart is thudding sickeningly loud against his chest – _Suddenly I realize everything I thought was impossible is here_ – before slowing just a tick whenever Liam gives him that look of comfort and assurance.  The smirk on his face, raw-bitten lips trembling, doesn’t seem to fade much against the thoughts in his mind.

He jumps at every strange sound, looking around quickly because the last thing he needs is to be arrested for invasion of property or loitering during his last night in this summer-soaked town.  He swallows against the humid air.  He knows the sweat on his brow is from nerves, uncertainty despite Liam’s little flickering smiles, dazed eyes that are still aglow from that wave-ridden buzz he had earlier.  The grass shrieks and drags beneath the heel of his trainers, clumsy steps around a tricycle, kicking at a forgotten skateboard in a car park while Liam snorts and tightens his grip on Zayn’s hand.

The steps grow slower, Zayn finally catching up with Liam until they’re walking side by side, the crickets and early rising birds beating out a melody to soften the deafening silence between them.  The fireflies sparkle in the air, chasing each other like winking stars.  He looks over a few of the houses, yellow ones that look like ashen traces of the sun.  There’s a few blue ones with white accents, a bright pink one that still burns feverish in the dark of the night.  Some are sharper than others, overly done up like a showpiece but they seem too lifeless for him.

He admires a big one just off the corner of another street, immense enough for a large family with something simple and convenient parked in the drive.  There’s a worn out, aging tree in the yard and it looks like the kind of house Zayn would raise a family in.  The paint is a little distressed, chipped but the windows are large and picturesque with a long stretch of lawn for children to play in.  He licks at his lips, wonders how long it would take him to teach his son how to skateboard down the drive, dance around the tree with his daughters chasing after him.  He wants to sip something cool and sweet while leaning on the railing, waving to a few neighbors before warm arms circle his waist and draw him in.  He doesn’t know why he pictures Liam’s lips against the rim of his ear, whispering sweet words – _And my heart sings in a world so incredible. And everything burns much brighter_ – before he calls for the kids to come in for dinner.  He lets his eyes shift shut for just a moment, thoughts of Liam’s hands on his hips while their children crowd around a fully decorated Christmas tree.  Teeth sink into his bottom lip and he wonders if Liam would smell warm and like sugar cookies when they’re huddled beneath the sheets, playful kisses before their breathing evens out and sleep’s washing over them like the changing of a tide.

“What are you thinking about?” Liam asks, their shoulders bumping as Liam’s steps grow smaller and smaller.

Zayn blinks his eyes open, the colors behind his lids still spinning brightly – _I want to fly into this beautiful life; I think it would be nice with you_.  His fingers curl around Liam’s, a grin sewn to his cheeks.  He exhales quietly, dead air around them.

“Stuff,” he whispers, trying to school that grin that has his cheeks flushed pink.

Liam nods slowly, smiling.  “Nice stuff?”

“Amazing stuff,” Zayn says with a low laugh, stopping when Liam does.

They’re standing in the middle of someone’s yard, Liam turning toward him until their face to face.  He inches forward, Zayn’s breath caught in his throat.  The moon tips cleanly over Liam’s face, everything shining silver.  There’s a freckled trace of copper in his eyes, soft brown like the color of tea when you add a few drops of milk.  Zayn traces over Liam’s nose with his finger, waiting for Liam to draw back.  Liam steps closer.  Zayn’s thumb drags over that blonde scruff, chewing on his bottom lip as Liam smirks sideways – _Fingertips, northern lights, tracing colors right through the sky_.

“Does any of it include me?” Liam wonders, his voice bitten soft.

Zayn snorts.  He doesn’t want to admit to it.  He wants to lie, something he’s practiced and become rather adept at over the years.  He wants his cheeks to stop burning hot, his eyes looking everywhere but Liam’s face until big fingers cup his chin, lift it a little.  He looks up through his lashes, the tip of his tongue running over slightly chapped lips and Liam’s expression is blank for a moment.

“It doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Zayn finally breathes out, choked by the way Liam’s features look soft and childlike.  “It does.”

“Is that a bad thing?” There’s a hollow to Liam’s voice, something rounding his words that tastes like concern.

Zayn thinks he should kiss Liam.  Yeah, he thinks too much.

“I don’t know,” Zayn admits, Liam’s thumb stroking his chin, just below his bottom lip.

Liam lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head a little.  “You think too much.”

“You’ve told me.”

“I guess that means I’m right then,” Liam laughs out, those cinnamon eyes crinkling just at the edges.  Zayn falls beneath the weight of his own concerns.

“It’s just that – “

“Yeah, I know,” Liam cuts him off with a small nod, leaning in.  Their lips brush, the sweet swell of oxygen in his lungs fleeing.  “But I don’t want to think about that.  I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zayn bites down gently on his lip, nodding.

“And I don’t want you to go,” Liam adds, his lashes sweeping downward, eyes closing.

The kiss is a slow build – _Underneath a lullaby, I never felt as blissful as I do here_ – that clinks against his mind.  Their noses bump, teeth scratching against lips until Liam centers it.  Gravity gives up, Zayn drifting along with Liam’s fingers on his jaw.  They’re soft, a little calloused, a welcomed touch that traces every piece of Zayn’s face.  Their hands remained cupped for a beat, Zayn’s other hand stroking at Liam’s side, dipping underneath his shirt just to feel his skin.  It burns, shifts beneath his fingers, sliding lower until they’re easing into the waist of Liam’s jeans.

Liam frees his other hand, easing behind Zayn, pressing fingers against the small of Zayn’s back until they’re flushed together.  They drum out a quiet beat there, Zayn licking at Liam’s lips, tasting a moan.  He can feel the sweet press of Liam’s semi against his thigh, Liam’s kisses burning off the thudding concern that they’re standing in the middle of someone’s yard snogging.  Teeth bite gently at his bottom lip, his hand cupping the back of Liam’s neck while tilting his head.  Liam’s tongue is slick over his, sliding against each other while their bodies press closer – _Set the night on fire if we want to._

He can hear the buzz of the fireflies swirling around them while Liam sucks on his tongue.  The rough drag of Liam’s stubble against his chin is nothing compared to the way Liam’s fingers feel against his skin, dipping beneath his shirt to stroke a thumb over the dimples in his back.  He feels the world dip and crumble when Liam’s moan vibrates against his lips, his own cock twitching against the confining fabric of his trousers.  Quiet kisses bathed in gentleness run across his lips, shifty giggles that push a smile across Zayn’s face while Liam nuzzles his nose to Zayn’s.

“You’re a brilliant kisser,” Liam whispers against his lips.

Zayn leans in, steals another kiss before inhaling sharply.  “You’re not so bad.”

Liam snickers, a few quick pecks before he’s pulling back just slightly.  “You think?”

“I could teach you a few things,” Zayn teases, batting his lashes, watching the pulse of stars in Liam’s eyes.  Why did he wait so long for this?

“I’d like that,” Liam mutters against Zayn’s lips, tracing gorgeous patterns across them.  “I’d like to suck your cock later too.”

Zayn shudders, a breathy groan silenced when Liam crushes his lips against Zayn’s.  His cock throbs at the thought, those spit-swollen lips wrapped tightly around his prick until the head strokes the back of Liam’s throat.  His fingers pinch at Liam’s side, his other hand shifting up into his hair.

There’s a soft breeze pulsing over them and Liam’s giggling again, the sound tickling Zayn.  It’s an amusing prickle against his ears, drawing back just a little to lick at Liam’s lips.  Crinkled eyes meet his, Liam’s cheeks afire with blush before Zayn rolls his hips just a little, pressing his cock to Liam’s hip.  Liam trembles, his face softening like the plinking of quiet raindrops.  Zayn smirks, fingers dancing forward until he can cup the full length of Liam’s erection.  It pulses under his palm and Liam shakes his head, looking insanely embarrassed and turned on all at once.

“Don’t move,” Liam whispers, swooping forward for a quick peck that’s all pressure and no substance.

“Hmm,” Zayn hums, quirking an eyebrow upward.

“Just stay here, no matter what,” Liam requests, an airiness in his tone that heightens Zayn’s concern.

“But – “

All of the words that were lingering on Zayn’s tongue die beneath a sudden spark, a clicking noise, something so familiar from Zayn’s days walking posh neighborhoods like this one.  The water is cold, uninviting and it showers over them before Zayn realizes it’s the sprinklers.  It’s a cascade of water sputtering from several directions and Liam’s drawing him in, holding him close before Zayn can completely panic.  He shivers and, _fuck_ , he wants to run.  He wants to scurry down the street and out of the way of this orchestra of splattering drops but Liam won’t let him move.

“What the actual fuck,” Zayn hisses, his voice low beneath the sounds of several sprinklers across the neighborhood.

Liam laughs into the crook of his neck, arms tightening around Zayn until he stops trembling.  He traces faint kisses there, up Zayn’s neck until his lips are against Zayn’s ear.

“It’s okay,” Liam whispers, smiling against the shell of Zayn’s ear.  “They go off every few hours in the summer.  Keeps the lawn healthy.”

“It’s _cold_.”

Liam nods, draping a few more kisses over Zayn’s neck, up across his jaw.  “Lou once got me a job taking care of the yards out here.  I know a few of the families here, the nice ones and the shitty ones who don’t tip well if you muck up their lawns.  The sprinklers are set to go off every four hours for about twenty minutes tops.”

Zayn wants to tell him he doesn’t give a fuck how long the sprinklers will stay on.  He wants to shove Liam away and stomp away until Liam’s apologizing and kissing him quiet.  He wants to tell Liam that squeezing him tighter isn’t comforting – it’s _suffocating_.  But, well, those arms do feel nice around him.  And Liam’s kisses are soft, warming despite the fact that the water is fucking freezing and he’s dripping from head to toe now.  His hair is falling flat and he can already feel his socks getting soaked but Liam pulls back, his tongue running over those bubblegum pink lips before he leans forward and there’s a smile licked out over those lips when Zayn sways with him.

Liam’s mouth fits perfectly against his and its hot.  It’s hot and sweet despite the sour taste of beer still remaining.  It lingers like a fire against Zayn’s chest.  He hums the first few bars of something familiar in his mind, one of those songs his mum loved when he was a child – _Who’s gonna tell you when it’s too late? Who’s gonna tell you things aren’t so great?_ – while Liam’s lips paint bursts of colors behind his eyelids.  His fingers are slick, slipping against Liam’s skin.  His dull nails scratch over Liam’s neck, Liam’s own hands fitting across his back, holding him close.  They’re drunk on kisses and dreamy-like wonder until they’re both breathless with swollen lips that want more.

“See the water isn’t so bad,” Liam teases, nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip.

Zayn snorts, shaking his head.  “’m not going swimming.”

“But I can teach you,” Liam promises, gazing at Zayn’s lips for a moment.

“I don’t wanna,” Zayn whispers, his mouth twitching into a grin.  “Wan’ kiss you.”

“Let me teach you,” Liam pleads and Zayn doesn’t want to tell him it’ll never happen.  Not because Zayn’s unwilling.  No, he’s half-considering that idea.  But it won’t happen.  Not when the sun lifts and Zayn’s barreling down the road back to Durham, far from this crummy town and this insanely wonderful boy – _You can’t go on thinking nothing’s wrong. Who’s gonna drive you home tonight?_

“Just kiss me,” Zayn sighs.

Liam thoughtfully chews on his bottom lip, rocking on his heels.  There’s a softness – burned away innocence renewed – in his expression that aches in Zayn’s chest.  His stomach knots, fingers going numb but he keeps stroking Liam’s neck, feeling the pulse of a strong heartbeat beneath the tips.  Liam’s fingers card through Zayn’s hair, slicking it back, combing through it until it’s all in place again.

“Stop thinking,” Zayn begs softly, wishing he could take his own advice.

The water pelts against them loudly, drenching them before Liam’s nodding slowly – _Who’s gonna pick you up when you fall? Who’s gonna hang up it when you call?_ Zayn breathes out a shaky exhale, nodding with Liam and maybe that’s just enough for them to avoid what neither one of them has the courage to say.

Liam blinks out a smile, one that’s sticky and completely Liam.  It’s infectious in ways Zayn still can’t describe and it makes him grin, fucking sputter out a laugh like those last few minutes didn’t happen.  Like the dance they’re moving clumsily through is suddenly fluid-like and perfect.  And those first few lazy, stumbled kisses beat purposefully against Zayn’s mind.  They remind him that they’re just boys drunk on the end of summer, waiting on the moon to swallow their dreams.

“This feels good, yeah?” Liam asks between kisses, a glassy smile on his face.  He presses his hips forward, their cocks grinding beneath the soaked material of their jeans.

Liam’s fingertips are a bitter cold against his cheek but he doesn’t mind.  He leans into them, adoring the way Liam’s face lights up.

“Yeah, man.”

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” Liam says a little too quickly, wincing once the words pass.  “Shit, did I say that?  Fucking idiot.”

Zayn smirks, shaking his head.  Liam’s fringe is flat against his forehead, the rest of his hair sticking to his head until Zayn reaches up, gathers it all into a sloppy quiff that doesn’t stand as tall as Zayn’s once did but it looks sharp on Liam.

“Since the beginning of the summer,” Zayn confesses, his voice a rolling, almost sleepy tone that gathers sparking feelings inside of him.

“Hmm?”

Zayn laughs, low and thick.  “I’ve wanted you since the beginning of the summer.  Pretty pathetic, huh?  I’m shitty at things like this.”

The grin on Liam’s lips – that four year old boy who gets a new bike for Christmas – is dopey, soft, heart-aching.  His eyes are light up like the tip of a cigarette, bright and blinking.  His eyebrows are lifted, cheeks on the edge of being offensively cute while his mouth sort of hangs open like he’s shocked.  He probably is but Zayn doesn’t have it in him to hide right now.  Not with Liam’s fingers pulling the clinging material of his shirt from his skin, lifting it, dragging it up until Zayn lifts his arms and its tugged off.

“You have?”

Zayn nods, sliding in for a kiss, a slow roll of his tongue over Liam’s teeth.  He pulls at Liam’s shirt, forgetting that they’re in somebody’s front yard in a usually lively neighborhood where anyone could peek out a window and see them making out under the glow of the moon.  It’s terrifying and exciting all at once.

There’s pink against Liam’s cheeks, teeth gnawing at the corner of his lip while Zayn takes his time pulling Liam’s shirt away, the damp material sticking to Liam’s arms, getting caught around his head in a clumsy movement that frustrates Zayn.  He ropes the shirt around Liam’s neck, uses it as leverage to drag Liam in for another searing kiss, grinning against Liam’s mouth as Liam releases a little strangled noise.

“C’mon,” Liam whispers against his lips, fingers easing into the loops of Zayn’s jeans, tugging him closer.

“Where can we go?” Zayn asks, licking into Liam’s mouth.  Fuck, Liam’s amazing at this – the kissing part.  The turning Zayn on part.  The making Zayn feel like he’s drifting, falling instead of coasting on a wave.

“Some of the families are out of town.  Some place that’s a little less cluttered with Uni punks,” Liam mumbles out, chasing Zayn’s lips when he starts to pull back.

Zayn smiles into another kiss, giving Liam complete freedom to bruise his lips, licking along his neck, bite gently at his neck until Zayn has little purple marks and teeth prints indented into his skin.

“What’re you saying?”

Liam hums against his skin, the heat of his skin burning like the buzz of the sun.  He shakes, Liam’s fingers unsnapping the button of his jeans, lips gliding upward.  Dense kisses are left over his cheek, his eyes beating closed while Liam’s fingers trickle down the center of his back and everything is horizon gold.

“C’mon,” Liam whispers again, a gentle sigh over his lips when Zayn runs his chilled fingertips down Liam’s defined stomach, over the thick hair that starts at the bottom of his belly button.  “I know a few places.”

“Naughty,” Zayn snickers out, tipping his head back while splinters of water splash against his cheeks.  They stick to his eyelashes like dust from a falling star and he’s digging his fingers into Liam’s shoulder, hushed whimpers in his throat as Liam grinds against him.

“Trust me?”

Zayn doesn’t balk or stutter on hesitation.  “Yes.”

“Then c’mon babe,” Liam adds, linking their fingers once more.

Zayn chews on his lip, blinking at Liam with a bitten smile.  He wants to tell Liam he’s fucking crazy, off his bloody rocker but he knows the swell of the night is fleeting.  He knows this whole thing has been out of control since the beach, since their lips first met and, well, it’s a little too late to stop it now, right?  It’s too late and he doesn’t want to stop it  
if he could.

They flee through a thicket of bushes, over the rough scruff of grass, sliding on the green while laughing and chasing each other.  Their voices echo off the back of a few houses, chase the night like vampires over the roofs as they pinch each other.  Liam snaps Zayn’s shirt at his bum, Zayn spinning in Liam’s arms before he can tackle him into someone’s pool.  He leaps on Liam for a sloppy piggy back ride that nearly ends in a heap of limbs on someone’s garden but Liam manages to steady himself with a grin that reminds Zayn of Niall’s face when he’s really high.

Sloppy kisses are pressed to Zayn’s cheek, fingers in his hair as they dance off their excitement through a few more backyards, leaping fences and shaking away sticking leaves from small shrubbery.  Wild abandonment carries them, the loud trumpet of Liam’s giggles pursued by Zayn’s softer snickers.  He lets Liam suck a pretty bruise on the space between his neck and shoulder, Liam guiding him into another yard while he curls up behind Zayn.

Large hands are spread out over his chest and stomach, fingers kissing at the wings tattooed just beneath Zayn’s collarbone, a thumb sliding over those ruby red lips.  Liam’s noses the back of his neck, hips pressed firmly to Zayn’s arse and Zayn’s spouting out little spurts of laughter, his nose scrunching.  He’s reaching back until a hand rests on Liam’s hip, his other hand cupping the nape of Liam’s neck and they stay like that for a while, catching their breath, waiting for the winking eye of a house light to catch them like this.

“You’re honestly incredible,” Liam mumbles against his lips a tick or two later, Zayn pressed against the rough paneling of someone’s house while the rattle of his zip dragging downward filters through his ears.

Zayn laughs somewhere between an inhale and a moan, palming at Liam’s chest with his head tipped back.  He swallows thickly and lets Liam shuck his jeans down, the dampness creating a small struggle before Liam hauls his strength together and jerks them down to Zayn’s knees.

“It’s you babe,” Zayn gasps out, a soft snicker following his next breath.  He lets Liam kiss along his jaw, carding his fingers through Liam’s hair.  “Fuck.”

“No one else seems to think so,” Liam says, doing his best to sound nonchalant but Zayn can hear the ache beneath it.

He cups Liam’s face in his hands, forgetting all pretense and the sudden need to get his cock out of his pants because, fuck, he’s painfully hard now.  His breath is caught on the wing of his lungs and he waits until Liam stills long enough to lean forward.  He catches Liam biting down on his bottom lip and, yeah, it’s adorable.  It’s beautiful and so is Liam seconds before Zayn kisses him.

It’s one of those comforting kisses.  It’s a stupid reminder that Liam is incredible, to Zayn, and if he could hollow out every thought Liam’s had about being less than amazing, he would.  He’d kiss it all away and drag Liam to a corner of the earth where those stupid, fucked up words didn’t hurt.

He settles for kissing Liam breathless instead, mumbled words against Liam’s mouth that are meant to mean something, engrave a promise against Liam’s lips.

His thumb strokes over Liam’s cheek, fingers tracing the line of his ear.  Liam’s stubble scratches beneath his palm when he pulls back, grinning.  Liam’s stilled silent, a thoughtful expression calculating words that Zayn wants to collect for his memories.  Just not now.  No, he wants to admire the quiet beauty of Liam’s face, the way he’s a child of the night, star-bright and overwhelming.  The shadows carve out the sharpness of his face and the droopiness of his eyes.  That bottom lip is trapped behind teeth and his chin is tilted down like a puppy.  Zayn’s heart wrestles deep into his throat and he holds onto a breath when Liam tries to smile.

“Stop thinking,” Zayn tells him with a smirk, pushing forward to press their lips together while he pops open the button on Liam’s trousers.  “Just stop thinking.”

Liam giggles against his lips, a numbing vibration that Zayn falls in love with.  The crickets pounce out their own melody like synthesizers in a 80s melody, the stutter of snare drum mimicking the sound of Zayn’s pulsing heart.  Lips push roughly together as Zayn slides down Liam’s jeans, lets them hang around Liam’s thighs before he bunches his fingers into the waistband of Liam’s pants, pulling them down too.

“I’m supposed to tell you to – “

Zayn hushes him with a push of his lips, a flick of his tongue.  He pulls back, the chirp of birds in the distance.

“Shut it babe,” Zayn says gently, curling his fingers around Liam’s cock, grinning when Liam shudders.  “Stop thinking and let me.”

“Le-Let you what?”

Zayn shrugs, never really thinking about it.  There’s a dozen things he wants to do, he wants done to him by Liam.  He wants time to stop and hold them here until he manages to accomplish everything he’s waited months to do.  He can’t but he’s leading a marching band of _fuck you’s_ through his mind because this is what he wants.

He deserves this, hesitation be damned.

“I don’t know,” Zayn finally says, the crinkle of clouds hiding stars striking down on them.  He gives another careless shrug, his grin still thick.  “Just let me, babe.”

Liam nods a little unsurely but it’s enough for Zayn.  It bounces like feet on a trampoline in his stomach, the cool burn of dusk prayed away by the scent of a coming morning.  He licks across Liam’s neck, a gentle stroke up Liam’s cock making the other boy pinch fingers into Zayn’s shoulder, never pushing, just holding on.  He cups his own cock, squeezing, pushing out a thick drop of precome that dampens his already soaked pants as he traces his name across Liam’s collarbone.  He sucks softly, shaping another mark against Liam’s skin that’s brighter, a sparkling red.  It’s a nice contrast to the hue of the birthmark on Liam’s neck.

His upper lip twitches, a slow swallow dragging a moan from Liam’s chest.  Liam’s cock tastes salty, a bit sharp with the tang but the precome that leaks over his tongue is sweet.  His knees feel raw, achy as they dig into the grass.  He’s sitting on his haunches, his fingers still wrapped around the base of Liam’s cock while his tongue pushes at the foreskin, licking across the slit.  He cups his lips over his teeth, slurping as he descends.  He catches himself trying to gag, slowing himself because, fuck, he’s still sort of new to this and he’s not nearly as practiced as he’s certain Louis is – then again, he’s only given about five blowjobs and three of them were when he was an experimental seventeen year old and still discovering that he kind of fancies cock.

Liam’s fingers are carding through his hair – something he’s usually annoyed with when he’s on his knees or when his face is buried between some desperate girl’s thighs – and he doesn’t seem to mind.  He likes the way Liam’s hand is gentle against his skull, encouraging rather than posturing.  His thumb sweeps against Zayn’s hairline and every time Zayn looks up through his eyelashes, Liam looks warm and amazed rather than lustful and focused.  It spurs Zayn on, his lips kissing the loose ring of fingers he has at the bottom of Liam’s dick.

He can smell the headiness of youth, the stench of boy, the sweet mixture of salt water and warmth.  It’s the scent of hedonism and Zayn clings to it with the wiry hairs surrounding Liam’s prick brushing against Zayn’s nose as he sinks deeper.  He strokes himself while bobbing up and down, a lazy rhythm with his fingers wrapped tightly around the base and he’s not coordinated enough to really do both at the same time but, fuck, he’s trying.  There’s little sparks of breaths passing Liam’s lips, quiet pants and whimpered moans that force Zayn’s eyes shut to enjoy it like music in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Liam’s hips are still every other breath, letting Zayn do most of the work until Zayn’s jaw aches.  He flicks his tongue around the head, his thumb pressing gingerly just beneath the crown until Liam’s growling and his knees are shaking.  It’s not as much of a precautionary warning as it is a plea for more and Zayn gives in, swallowing Liam down while thumbing the head of his own cock.  Liam’s lengthy, soft around the head and foreskin while Zayn is thick, dripping against his fingertips.  Liam’s precome is thick, sliding down Zayn’s tongue as he loosens his jaw and tries to take Liam in his throat.  It takes work and tears prick at the corners of his eyes, Liam hushing him and trying to pull back.

“Stop,” Liam hisses, rolling his hips.  “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Zayn pulls off with a wet _pop_ , licking at his lips – sugary and salty all at once.  He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth while stroking Liam.  He gathers the precome on the tips of his fingers, grinning up at Liam before reaching down to slick his own cock with his spit and Liam’s stickiness.

“I won’t,” Zayn promises, leaning in while still looking up through long, spider-like lashes.  “Just let me.”

“You keep saying that,” Liam reminds him, a shaky breath ghosting his lips.

“And you keep fighting it,” Zayn insists and why the fuck was he having a chat when Liam’s cock was pulsing in his hand and his own dick was throbbing against his palm?

“So-Sorry,” Liam stutters out, lips turning down into a frown.

“Don’t be.  Just let me,” Zayn requests, practically begs before running his tongue over his lips, smiling lightly.

Liam nods, bursts of shyness sweeping his eyes, coloring his cheeks.  “Can you,” Liam waves a hand between Zayn’s mouth and his cock, lifting his shoulders like he’s completely embarrassed.  Fuck, when did this dopey boy become so magically wonderful?

“You want me to?” Zayn asks, a slow stroke of his hand across Liam’s prick.  He pushes the foreskin up, completely covers the pinkish head before dragging it back, watching the precome pool at the tip.  It makes him harder, a couple of quick strokes alleviating some of the pressure but not enough.

“ _Please_.”

“You don’t have to beg,” Zayn laughs out, inching inward again.

“But you like it when I do,” Liam whispers darkly, a sideways smile falling over his mouth.

Zayn nods, smirking back.  “Fuck, I do.”

“And I’d like it if you sucked me off until I came over your face,” Liam adds, his voice deep and licking at Zayn’s spine.

Fuck, Louis’ must’ve taught him how to be this cheeky and sinfully exotic at the same time.  Louis is the fucking devil, Zayn knows it.

Zayn rocks on his heels while taking Liam down.  His lips twist wickedly around Liam, loud slurps and spit trickling down the corners of his mouth, over his chin, down his neck.  He finds a rhythm, a speed he can work with all while wanking himself, bordering on the thin edge of ecstasy and amazement.  His lips feel swollen, his mind is numb, and he can taste Liam along his tongue.  Sweat sticks to his brow, slides down the long stretch of his neck and Liam tugs gently on his hair, fucking his hips into Zayn’s mouth.

There’s gasps from above, Zayn breathing harsh breaths through his nose as he toys with the head of his cock.  He tongues the slit of Liam’s, wincing when Liam pulls a little too roughly on his hair but he doesn’t pull off, not even when Liam’s all apologetic and gentle, comforting words.  He merely moans around Liam, opening his mouth wider as he sinks further down the base of Liam’s prick and the world explodes in a bright parade of blues, reds, purples, spinning yellows.

“I’m gonna – “

Zayn hums around Liam’s cock – a little trick Niall might’ve told him about during some drunken stopover party back at University – and swallows around the head of Liam’s cock.  He doesn’t pull back, thumbing the nerve just beneath the head of his cock while Liam pulls Zayn all the way down.  He breathes into Liam’s pubes, doing his best to swallow as Liam floods his throat, bathes his tongue in thickness.  He shudders around Liam’s prick, aching with Liam as Liam finally moans properly, loud and whiny while Zayn streaks whoever’s lawn this is with his own come.  It sticks to the tips of his fingers, thick and stringy while Liam trembles through the last few waves of his orgasm.  A stingy bitterness sits on his tongue – he’s never done this before: _swallowed_ – and he’s quick pants, hollowed out cheeks until he feels Liam softening in his mouth.

Liam’s on his knees before Zayn can recover, kissing him with large hands cupping Zayn’s cheeks.  He smiles, Liam’s tongue stroking his until Liam can taste himself and it’s not weird like he thought it would be.  It’s… fuck, it’s arousing.  He considers lifting his hand, letting Liam lick away the come from his own fingers but he hesitates, wipes it along the downy hair on his thighs before sighing into the kiss.

“You didn’t have to,” Liam says, the words biting at Zayn’s lips.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Zayn pauses, considers his words.  Fuck, he doesn’t really know why.  He doesn’t want to say he thinks it’s rude and insanely daft to do such a thing when it’s someone you care about.  He wants to tell Liam he wanted to know what it was like – he doesn’t think he’d do it again, unless it was Liam – or maybe tell him it seemed like the right thing to do, the _intimate_ thing to do.

“Because it’s _you_ ,” he says and it feels like the right thing to say.  It feels like the three words he needs to replace those other three words he thinks he’d utter to Liam in this was a different time, if the situation was different.

He wishes the situation was completely different.

“You’re just,” Liam pants, cheeks flushed with glazed over eyes, “I _can’t_.  I can’t believe how real you are.”

Zayn snorts, sucking his bottom lip into his teeth.  “Fuck off.”

Liam smiles at him, shy and casually wrecked before he’s fingering Zayn’s hair, brushing his thumb over Zayn’s brow.  Zayn lingers in the silence, letting all of this weariness feather away on the short gasps of wind that dust past them.

**

“How are you like this?”

Zayn’s sitting between Liam’s legs on some plastic slide in another backyard, their clothes drying stiffly against their skin with their shirts in their laps.  Liam’s been trailing little flickering kiss over Zayn’s shoulder, his chest to Zayn’s back while their hands rest in Zayn’s lap.  His hair is spiky, an out of place heap of fluff that Liam drags his fingers through slowly every other chirp of a nearby cricket.  The moon’s sliding slowly down the sky, the darkness lighting the way for a softer purple haze and dying off stars.  Liam’s legs fit around Zayn’s waist and his skin is August warm against Zayn’s, everything about this quiet surrounding them snug and overwhelming.

“Like what?” Zayn wonders, tilting his head back until it rests on Liam’s shoulder.

Liam’s lips rub over a love bite etched into the side of Zayn’s neck, his breath hot and moist over Zayn’s flesh.

“I don’t know,” Liam says with a small lift of his shoulders, his thumb rubbing over the small scrapes on Zayn’s knuckles – a shit attempt at a new trick on his board gone wrong – before he adds, “You’re not like anyone else I hang around.  Not like anyone I’ve ever fancied.”

“That’s a compliment, right?” Zayn asks with a heaving laugh.

Liam grins against his neck, nodding.  “It is.”

Zayn chews on his lip, relaxing even further beneath Liam’s touch.  Liam surrounds him, thick muscled arms crowding Zayn into a small space while his lips circle Zayn’s jaw, his thumbs pressing at Zayn’s inner thighs.  His eyes slide shut – this won’t last – as he times the beat of his heart against Liam’s slow breaths.

“Does it matter?”

“No,” Liam says a little flatly, disappointment not as prominent as uncertainty.  “I just, I don’ know.  I just think it’s too good to be true, y’know?”

“It always is,” Zayn says with a muted sigh.  It’s not pessimistic; it’s the truth and Zayn hates the way it bites at his skin.

“Feels like I missed out on something brilliant,” Liam whispers the words burying themselves into Zayn’s neck.

“Like my amazing cock sucking skills?” Zayn snickers, nipping painfully at his lip.

There’s a rose to Liam’s cheeks, head shaking with a snort.  “Yeah, definitely that.”

Zayn hums, nodding.  Liam’s scruff scratches at his skin as he gentles kisses to Zayn’s neck and shoulder.

“But maybe something more.”

“I thought we weren’t thinking,” Zayn reminds him, wanting to escape his own skin.  He wants to get away again, avoid all of this dreamed up bullshit of finding love at the end of summer.  He’s been doing a right job of not dealing with this shit and it’s a little too late to start now.  He’s not buzzed enough or high enough or brave enough to actually think about leaving this broken down glorious town behind.

He doesn’t have enough courage to leave Liam behind.

“We’re not,” Liam agrees, pushing out a smile that feels false and protesting but Zayn accepts it.  He wills it to mean something else.

“Would you really teach me to swim?” Zayn asks, gazing upward.  The stars are beginning to slumber, bleached out light fading.

“Of course.”

“And take me running every morning even if it I hate to?  Even if I fucking kicked and screamed and needed a cigarette every five minutes?” Zayn adds, his lips tipping upward into a grin.

“I’d bring you coffee in bed and we’d make a compromise.  You come running and I’ll carry you back to yours for some FIFA on the Wii before watching one of those shitty shows you like.”

“ _Absolutely Fabulous_ is not shitty,” Zayn argues with a smile, batting his lashes as the sky swirls lavender and pink.

“No, but _Hollyoaks_ is,” Liam tells him, grinning.

He might be right but he blames Niall for his addiction to crummy soap operas and an adoration for anything with a shit storyline and loads of drama.  He doesn’t tell Liam this, settling for listening to Liam’s soft breathing, lingering in the way Liam’s kisses make him feel.

“I’d do it, you know,” Zayn breathes out, the stars escaping his vision.  “I’d let you teach me to swim and go for a run with you.  I’d let you pick which side of the bed you want to sleep on and even sit through your awful taste in music – “

“David Bowie is not awful,” Liam interjects.

Zayn rolls his eyes promptly, puckering his lips and he doesn’t want to tell Liam how completely gay that sounds.  He settles for taking in a deep breath, Liam’s scent surrounding him before he continues, “And I’d watch you surf with Lou until you were knackered, taking a kip with your head in my lap on the sand.”

Liam smiles, genuine and bright.  He strokes his fingers over Zayn’s scalp and Zayn pretends the touch doesn’t hurt more than it comforts.  He gnaws at his lip until it’s raw and ignores Liam’s whispered words: “I can’t think of anything better.”

The cloudless sky laughs down on them, haunting and unfair.  He sinks into Liam, refusing to push Liam’s lips away when they dance over his cheek.  He wonders where Niall is.  He wonders how he’s going to survive this trek back home.  No, back to Durham.  Back to University.

This place feels like home now – this crummy town with its endless beach, homely shops, scattering of convertibles and rich, upper-class madness among the small-time people with their families and sheltered lives.  This place where the sun sets high and the waves pound out music against your ears.  The small coffee shop, the bakery on the corner, the Uni kids who wreck the streets like rock ‘n roll on a half-baked summer.

This warm body curled around him that smells like the sea and flicks of softness.  This stupid boy who’s a lifeguard and shit at telling jokes but smiles like he owns part of the sun.

This place in Liam’s arms feel like _home_.  And he needs to walk away before this home catches fire.

**

Zayn leads Liam this time, a cracking smile on his lips as they climb the drive up to Louis’ house.  There’s kids scattered over the lawn, having a lie-in while being surrounded by empty plastic cups and morning dew.  The air is dense with the headiness of burnt off cheap weed, sweet perfume, flat beer, and dying cigarettes.  There’s a kid vomiting in the bushes, a group of girls giggling and taking a piss at each other while on their last cup of too warm vodka and juice.  Skateboards are grinding against the pavement and some of the guys are trying to start up a sloppy game of drunken footie in the middle of the road, ignoring headlights and passing cars in favor of choosing teams that are mainly unbalanced and their shouts of anarchy don’t hold Zayn’s attention long enough.

The crowd on the inside is a little less thick, kids asleep on couches, across the floor, poor Calum passed out on the beer pong table with a group of lads toasting bubbly beer in red cups over his sleeping body.  Girls are swaying around to the music – _Your love’s a weapon, give your body some direction. That’s my aim_ – with clumsy effort that has a few of the guys staring, other girls chatting cattily from the edges of the room.

Eleanor’s against a wall, Jordan whispering in her ear, Ben crowding Nick to a wall like something might happen there that shouldn’t.  Perrie’s dragging her fingers through Jade’s hair from one of the couches, Jade dazed with heavy eyes and a smirk against freshly painted red lips.  There’s empty bottles of Jack, some expensive tequila, Russian vodka cluttering the room and Zayn grips Liam’s hand a little tighter as he leads him in.  Their fingers twist around each other while Zayn dodges grinding bodies, broken words he can’t hear above the music – _Take back the night. Dizzy, spinning, sweating, you can’t catch your breath_ – but he doesn’t really care.  Not when he glances over his shoulder and catches Liam smiling goofily at him.

He feels like he’s floating on a high that’s not brought on from that sticky weed from earlier or the cups of alcohol from the beginning of the night.  Their bodies are tangled around each other, hands on hips and across their backs.  He’s doing his best to keep up with Liam’s movements, losing himself in a spiraling sense of forget, no regrets like he’s learned a new mantra to live by.  He grinds down against Liam, catching the little flicks of a simmering smile on Liam’s lips.  He loves the way Liam’s fingers dig into his hips, his dull nails scratching at Liam’s back until Liam leads him through the dance, humming on every stroke of the melody – _Attraction can drive you crazy. And the way you move, you go crazy, that’s incentive for me._

There’s a bottle of something that burns the back of your throat passed around, he and Liam both taking a healthy gulp while ignoring the pointed looks Andy’s giving them – judging and almost disapproving.  Liam shies into the crook of Zayn’s neck while Zayn greets Andy with a mighty one-fingered hello, wrapping his arms around Liam and swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music.  He tries not to grin when Andy stomps off, winking at Perrie as she offers them a little wave that’s drunken and very much uncoordinated.  He giggles into Liam’s cheek, buzzing off the way Liam’s kissing out words against his skin and they fall into fucked out reverie with the music and the bodies dancing around them, too caught up in bliss to know the sun is going to peek in soon and ruin all of this.

“I hate dancing,” Zayn mumbles over Liam’s scruff, right next to his ear.

“Then why are you?” Liam asks with a snort, the heel of his hand digging into the small of Zayn’s back.

An aborted groan pricks his lips, his chin tipping downward while Liam rolls slow kisses over the side of his neck.

“Because I don’t wan’ let you go,” Zayn whispers, the softness of his voice slick beneath the music.  “Wanna be next to you.”

Liam hums approvingly, grinning against Zayn’s neck.  “Proper answer.”

“Idiot,” Zayn huffs out with a laugh, still letting Liam balance them through this dance.

“Not letting you go, babe,” Liam says, the words tangled like a promise.  “Not yet.”

Zayn sighs at that.  He likes the way it sounds, deep and lasting.  He tickles his fingers up the back of Liam’s neck, lips coasting over his chin and jaw.

“Show me how you move.”

Liam barks out a laugh at that, lips creasing over Zayn’s cheek.  His reply is swallowed down when Zayn crushes their lips together, spinning through the room and ignoring the way everyone seems to be fascinated by their closeness.  He dances like he doesn’t hate it but he knows it’s because of Liam.  And he lets Liam make good on his words, their hips moving together, hands chasing over skin, the pulse of something brilliantly sweet strumming through his heart.

They’re kissing lazily in the kitchen, ignoring little looks they get from a few of the sober party crashers – young kids who were still in college and shouldn’t be anywhere near this kind of debauchery – while Luke tries to explain the importance of taking an Economics class to a very wasted Cher, her head lolling from side to side.  Liam’s giggling against his lips, strumming under a minty haze of ashen summer nights and unexplainable joy.  It pulls Zayn in, little flicks of his tongue over Liam’s lips until he’s accepting another kiss from Zayn, circling the drain of this warm night’s fire.

Zayn tries not to gasp – it sounds choked instead – when he spots Harry descending from upstairs, his hair wrecked with bright green eyes and a lazy smirk.  Niall’s behind him, hair just as fucked, with deep burgundy marks littering his neck and collar and flushed red cheeks.  His tank top is on backwards, trousers hanging loosely off his hips and he’s doing that Walk of Shame that Zayn reserves for silly Uni girls or naïve young boys.  Behind him is Louis, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with Harry’s fedora on his head, Niall’s snapback clutched in his hand and he’s shirtless, scattered ink shining beneath the light of the room.  He’s smirking, accomplished, and snatching a cup of something dark from one of those college kids, balking at the taste.  He doesn’t look as dazed as Harry or ruined like Niall but there’s a dull spark to him that says he doesn’t give a shit about the way Eleanor is glaring at him from across the room or the way Liam’s gaping at him.

“Is this a party or what?” Louis bellows out, cheers from some of the sloppier drunken people riling him up even more.

“Asshole,” Eleanor sighs out, stomping away in a terribly dramatic fashion.

Zayn wonders if she learned such theatrics from Louis.

“Bless,” Louis beams, downing the rest of the drink in his hand before stumbling toward another room.

Zayn shakes his head, smirking, while Niall crawls into a corner of the room and downs two shots in a single breath.  Harry’s escaping to the deck, lighting up another blunt before chatting up some pretty redhead with a short dress and too tall heels.  Liam’s fingers are curled into Zayn’s shirt, a nervous twitch to his lips and, fuck it, Zayn’s with Louis on this one.  He leans in, pushes his lips against Liam’s again and he chases away the sickening feeling in his stomach – the one that reminds him this is ending too quickly – with the taste of Liam’s lips and the feel of fingers rubbing idly over his stomach.

**

The sky is an ocean wave of oranges, plush pinks with fleeing purples fading into deep blues just far enough away that everything looks endless and beautiful.  The clouds tuck away the stars, the sun ripping its way over the ocean and the dawn prickles slowly through the scenery.  The air is dead with cigarette smoke from the last one he’s burnt out between his fingers, never really tasting it because Liam’s lips keep dancing over his.  It’s long drawn-out kisses that seem to last for hours but shred at his heart like it’s only been seconds.  The sand under their feet is warming, still coarse from the still of the night but it sinks between their toes and lifts them closer to the heavens.

Liam’s snapback is tucked snugly over his flatten quiff, sitting sideways and careless while he flicks away the ash of a dying cigarette.  He can taste the break of morning on Liam’s lips, the settling dew of the air sticking to Liam’s lashes, softening the texture of his cheek.  Zayn’s fingers play hide and go seek over Liam’s neck, his chin, right along the curve of a brilliantly round cheek that Zayn’s falling in love with.  The birds play their own echoing melody in the clouds, a call for another unrestrained journey with Liam’s hands cupped around Zayn’s waist.  Cold toes rest on top of Zayn’s, giggles breaking the firm contact of their lips and Zayn’s smirking when Liam tries to settle himself back into the kiss.

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn mutters against Liam’s mouth, flicking away his burnt out cigarette before folding his fingers through Liam’s hair.

“ _You’re_ the idiot, you donut,” Liam says mockingly, watching the silhouette of shadows smudge over Zayn’s face.  He grins, his nose scrunching in just the slightest and Zayn hates how adorable it all is.

Their scruff is thicker against their cheeks, over their jaws, rough against their chins.  The sun is streaking gold through the sky, blinking off the sharp features of Liam’s face, the tan of his skin.  Zayn thumbs that birthmark on Liam’s neck, swept away in quiet peace – _Here I am waiting, I’ll have to leave soon. Why am I holding on?_

There’s a dry brush of wind against them, crackling between their bodies.  Liam’s thumbs hook into the belt loops of Zayn’s jeans, tugging him closer.  Chest to chest, smiling through kisses that break off lazily before neither one of them wants to fully pull away.  Zayn breaks first, – _We knew this day would come, we knew it all along. How did it come so fast?_ – leaning in and Liam chases those lips into something magical and creased by the roll of daylight piercing through the lavender in the sky.  It’s a train off track, a dream littered with lies, and Zayn hates that he’s in love with every second of it.

“Sick party,” Zayn whispers against Liam’s mouth, fitting his over Liam’s again for a smooth kiss that drifts like raindrops over summer leaves.

“Amazing,” Liam says after a few broken kisses, chaste ones that are oddly friendly and pleasant.  “Brilliant.”

Zayn nods with a snort.  Liam’s thumb etches over his cheek, tracing the sharp lines, the definition.  Zayn presses his face into the palm of Liam’s hand, eyes shifting shut.  He’s out of cigarettes, his one escape from this sinking feeling.  It’s heavy against his chest, making each breath short and clipped.  He can’t breathe, not long enough to sustain a thought greater than the end of this – _This is our last night but it’s late and I’m trying not to sleep._

“’s my birthday in a few days,” Liam says fleetingly, the edge of his nose brushing over Zayn’s.  “Can’t wait to see me parents and sisters.  Probably have a little cake for me and maybe me mummy will make me that soup I love.”

Zayn presses his forehead to Liam’s, eyes still shut – _And when the daylight comes, I’ll have to go. But tonight I’m gonna hold you so close_ – as he steadies his breaths.  It’s one breath in for every two that flee out and he curls his fingers into that thick hair on top of Liam’s head.

“And your mates?” Zayn wonders, chewing on his lip.  He hates the way his voice breaks, Liam’s comforting fingers sliding beneath his shirt to trickle over his ribs, press reassuringly into the small of his back.

“Don’t really have none,” Liam mutters with a breathy laugh.  It’s not aching, not as it should be but Zayn still catches the way its hung up and beaten.  “None except Lou but he’ll probably be visiting his mum and sisters.  Probably getting ready for Uni.”

“So no one will be there?”

Liam shrugs, gold lashes fluttering like feathers over his cheeks as his eyes slide shut.  Zayn watches them, the way Liam’s brow wrinkles just a little while his mouth curves into anything other than a frown.

“’m used to it.”

Zayn’s giving him an incredulous look even though he knows Liam can’t see it.  He’s sucking in a deep breath, waiting for Liam’s lips to twitch, slide downward.  They don’t.  They remained still like Liam really is used to this.  He’s used to being alone.

It hurts more than the goodbye waiting on the edge of Zayn’s lips – _Cause in the daylight, we’ll be on our own. But tonight I need to hold you so close._

Zayn folds his arms around Liam’s neck, the sun beating calmly down on them.  The clouds are a cotton candy pink, sliding like the eased morning tide.  He can hear the waves kicking lowly toward their left, a rolling cadence that beats a little thicker than his heart does – _Here I am staring at your perfection. In my arms, so beautiful_.  He mouths a kiss against the tip of Liam’s nose, dragging their foreheads together as he waits on the whistle of another gust of wind to break against their skin.

“I’d be there.  If I could, I would,” Zayn says lowly.  His eyes drift shut again, lashes beating against his cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Liam hums, lips puckering into a grin.  “I’d like that.”

“Would you?” Zayn smiles out, relaxing underneath the press of Liam’s palm on the dip in his back.  “Would your parents mind?”

“I’d like to think not,” Liam replies, biting on the corner of his bottom lip.  “They’ve always said that my happiness mattered most.  ‘s why they’ve never tried to force to go to Uni.  ‘s why my dad said I could be anything I wanted – a pilot, a factory worker or a fireman or even a vet because I love dogs.”

Zayn imagines Liam surrounded by a litter of golden retrievers, small dogs, a few Dalmatians, and it fucking hurts.  It hurts knowing he won’t be a part of that dream.  He won’t be but a flicker in all of Liam’s dreams of his life ten years from now.  Just a summer night in a collection of beautiful, priceless memories.

“I wouldn’t be afraid to let them meet you though, if that’s what you mean,” Liam adds, his chin lifting to look into Zayn’s eyes.  Those irises are warm like shaved chocolate and glittered cinnamon.  Fuzzy eyebrows and a wrinkled brow cast over Liam’s eyes – _The sky is getting bright. The stars are burning out. Somebody slow it down_ – and Zayn doesn’t stop himself from kissing Liam again.

“This is mental,” Zayn hisses when Liam draws back.

There’s a stinging laughter breaking past Liam’s lips.  “We’re so daft.”

“I’m shit at dating,” Zayn admits.  His voice is spun low, uneven.  “’m probably not a very good boyfriend.”

“Guess that means it’s a good thing you’re leaving today,” Liam mumbles with a kicked up laugh.  There’s a wrinkle at the corners of his mouth disguised as a smile.  It’s not genuine but it’s just enough to hold them there.

“Yeah.”

“’ve had quite enough bad relationships, don’t you think,” Liam teases, pushing forward to peck at Zayn’s lips before he can respond.

He knows whatever he wanted to say would ache much more than it needed to.

“Will you be here next summer?” Zayn wonders, pulling almost all of the way back down.  The moon is cornered somewhere far off, sinking behind the dip of the ocean, making more room in the sky for coppered yellows and bristled blues.

Liam gives a small shrug, leaning back on his heels with his hands working their way to Zayn’s waist again.

“If Lou comes back,” Liam breathes out, a smile plastered over his lips.  Zayn knows he will, keeps that little secret to himself.  He smirks at Liam before Liam adds, “Or if someone else wants me to.”

 _I do_ , Zayn thinks, holds onto those two words for a beat.  He doesn’t want to sound desperate even though his fingers twitch, his heart races, his mind whirs on a dozen thoughts that he can’t corral together to form a single sentence.  It’s just sea salt air, cool sand between his toes, the edge of summer drifting off the banks to make just enough room for September and the harvest of forgotten days.

Liam grins at him, his teeth worrying his bottom lip before he shifts backward.  Zayn’s cold, even under the stretch of the still rising sun.  He feels clammy and stiff and, fuck, why is Liam so far away now.  He’s right there, just a small reach of his arm to touch against Liam’s chest but still too far away.

Fingers circle his wrist, lift his hand as Liam reaches into his back pocket, freeing a black Sharpie that Zayn arches an eyebrow at.  Liam’s teeth bite at the tip of his tongue as he holds Zayn’s hand, palm up, before doing his best to scribble something against the soft skin.  Zayn feels the point of the marker dragging, tickling his palm and he watches curiously as Liam adds a silly smiley face at the end of the already scrawled out number he’s etched across Zayn’s hand.  There’s a name – _Leeyum_ – written poorly just above the digits and Liam looks down proudly.

“Don’t make me wait until next summer,” Liam demands with the kind of softness in his voice that reminds Zayn of early June and waves licking at their feet as they strolled down the beach.

Zayn nods slowly, pushing out a sigh.  It’s supposed to be enough but it’s not – _This is my last glance that will soon be a memory_ – until Liam leans forward to smooth a soft kiss against Zayn’s lips.  It doesn’t last as long as the other ones and there’s not enough pressure but there’s something about the lightness of it, the way Liam’s smiling when he drifts back.  There’s something brilliant bright and inescapable in Liam’s eyes.

It’s enough.  It slows the rhythm of Zayn’s heart and he feels like every wasted moment was worth it.

Fuck, it was _all_ worth it.

Niall’s down in the sand next to him after Liam’s drifted off, up that rocky road that leads back into the town.  He’s far away now, untouchable, and Zayn wonders if maybe he can still see a shadowed silhouette of him in the distance where the sun peeks down on the hills and maps out faint images against the roll of the wind.

Their backs are to the ocean, chasing the smoke of a cigarette Niall bummed off a pissed Max.  They pass it back and forth, quick puffs just to let the smoke drift back out through their noses rather than really savoring it.  Niall toys with the flame of Zayn’s lighter, his snapback sitting lazy on his head while Liam’s still covers most of Zayn’s hair.  They bump shoulders, rocking against a burst of wind with off-kilter grins on their lips and a dusting of satisfaction in their eyes.

“Fucking worth it,” Niall says first, inhaling a long drag of smoke this time.

“No regrets,” Zayn says softly, holding the end of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger when Niall passes it to him.  He takes a few short puffs, sniffing before blowing out the blue smoke.

“No regrets, mate.”

The sand feels grungy and the sky is a tornado of colors.  The feel is easy and it reminds Zayn of those first few days in a shit town he’d never thought of visiting before Niall.  It’s that bare feeling in the morning where everything still sticks to your skin and the night is a blur of madness that will forever be epic when given enough thought.

He smiles at that.

“You hooked up with Lou,” Zayn laughs out, his grin wide and wild.  “Harry too.”

“You fell in love,” Niall teases him with another stiff nudge of their shoulders.  He pokes his index finger gently at the few bruises Liam’s mouth has left behind, the color faded out.

Zayn takes a thoughtful drag this time, finally letting the smoke hollow out his lungs.  He flicks away the ash, tilting his head to watch a few cars skate away from the beach to places unknown.

“I didn’t,” Zayn says with a rough voice.  He can feel Niall smiling at him.  He sighs, the smoke gusting out of his mouth.  “Something like that.”

Niall nods happily, nicking the cigarette back.  He takes a long pull, the sun streaking over his pale skin.  The burn from the last few days still remains, blotches of redness that matches the color of Niall’s cheeks.

“Lou’s pretty fucking great in bed.  Splendid with his mouth,” Niall notes, an offhandness to his tone.

“Things that I don’t want to know,” Zayn spits out, waving off the cigarette when Niall offers him another hit.  Niall shrugs, puffing out sloppy rings of smoke before he’s sucking in some more of the nicotine.

“Hey,” Niall says, resting a hand on Zayn’s drawn up knees.  He has a considering look in his eyes like he’s trying to be serious through his still fading drunkenness.  “It’s not the end of the world.”

Zayn wants to tell him it is.  Zayn wants to remind Niall that he drug him here for the summer, to get his mind off of Uni and family and being out of place in this shipwrecked world.  He wants to throttle Niall because, _fuck_ , he wasn’t supposed to come here and fall for some silly little boy with round eyes and a pension for making Zayn feel numb with life.

Just some stupid, uncalled for crush he tells himself.  He doesn’t believe a single word in his mind.

They blink upward when feet shuffle through the sand, kicking at dying leaves and the crest of lukewarm bits of sand.  Zayn snorts, shaking his head while Niall sort of gapes at Harry.  His arm is slung around Ashton’s waist, something painfully happy and pleasant on his face rather than purposeful and lusty.  He looks deeply content, blushing pink and wild when Ashton leans up to whisper something in his ear.  His fedora is cocked back on Ashton’s head, Ashton’s finger twirled into the fabric of Harry’s shirt and, well, they look lost in reverie.

They look like something dawned on them about this fading summer.

Harry stops short, lips twisting sideways before he nods at Zayn, grins at Niall.

“Spent the whole summer trying to get this little shit’s attention and he never noticed me,” Harry notes, sighing pleasantly when Ashton reaches up to feather his fingers through Harry’s loose curls.  There’s a kiss pressed smoothly to Harry’s cheek before he’s adding, “I thought I could make him jealous by, you know, snogging and shagging any and everyone but he didn’t really pay attention to any of it.  He was just waiting on me to finally ask him out.”

Ashton smiles, the rush of blush settling in.  “Couldn’t care less about all of the blokes he hooked up with.”

Niall bites down on a grin, humming.  “Huh.”

Ashton leans into Harry, a dreamy expression lit up on his face.  “Maybe I kind of liked the idea that he’d go through such great lengths to get with me, you know?”

Zayn nods slowly, his brow lifted.  He’s still a bit shell-shocked and the way Harry seems tamed, waiting on a breaking wave to coast down life with ease, draws up a smile on Zayn’s lips.

“What can I say?  Sometimes, we all do stupid shit for the things we want,” Harry mutters.  He eases a kiss to Ashton’s temple and they’re turning, moving away just as easily as they swept in.  Harry throws Niall a quick, apologetic look over his shoulder that Niall nods at with a perked up smile of his own.  They’re good and nothing else really needs to be said.

Niall slides an arm around Zayn’s hunched shoulders, grinning.  The sun blinks across the sky and they watch the way it slides over the roofs of small buildings, streaking the roads gold and glittery, dancing off the sand before cloaking the rocks in shadows.  They breathe in the air that’s thick with approaching heat and rounded bliss.

“No regrets,” Niall chews out, leaning his head against Zayn’s.

Zayn smiles softly, nodding.  He glances down at his palm, the black ink from the Sharpie starting to fade but he can still read out every letter, every poorly written number.  His smile thickens, the sweep of another summer breeze raining down on him.  He thinks he can smell vanilla frosting, sweet cinnamon, musky sweat, and Liam.

This place is home and he closes his eyes, focuses on the thought of Liam’s arms around him.  _Home_.  This town and all of its memories feels just like home.

“No regrets,” he whispers, the words a shout against the low wind until they bounce off every forgotten corner of this place.

**

If there’s one thing Zayn likes about Durham, it’s the coffee shop that’s just a few roads down from their University.  It’s the kind of place that  
doesn’t serve amazing coffee or have the spectacular atmosphere of one of those silly chain coffee places with their neatly done up menus and perky baristas but it’s quiet for the most part.  It has a good view of the flickered lights of the town from a large window, and the chap that owns the place – an older man named Cowell who’s hardly ever there because he owns a lot of places in Durham and is out of town more than he’s ever there – likes to break all of the archaic rules of the city by letting his customers smoke inside the shop as long as it’s in the late hours when the place is flooded with the morning or afternoon rush.  It saves Zayn the trouble of having to walk around back and stand in the stiff cold of this pent up University town that’s more school buildings than it is a tourist attraction just to have a smoke.

He’s thankful for that one unforgotten rule somewhere after seven in the midst of a nice September chill.  He’s sitting across from Niall, a few text books left open across their table – the one near the edge of this broken off civilization he calls his second home – with a littering of paper cups that used to house coffee stacked clumsily into an almost pyramid shape at one end of the table.  Niall’s not one to preoccupy himself with studying, too caught up on a game of Flick Kick footie on his phone while rambling off a few meaningless conversations with Zayn.  Zayn nods along, missing more than half of Niall’s words, while worrying his bottom lip and highlighting various sections of text that he wants to remember later on.  He’s trading off long drags of a cigarette with slow sips from his black coffee.

The shop may be one of those places that most would overlook – fuck, Zayn did the first few times he passed it on the way to one of those cozy shops near the University – but the coffee’s not really that bad and the freshly baked pastries set out behind a glass display always help him through an awful case of the munchies after smoking up with Niall or a long study session.  The lightings pretty shit unless you find the right table and don’t expect much in the line of service because most of the people Cowell employs are also Uni students – Niall worked there for approximately two weeks before deciding the place took away too much of his time from football and shagging; a greater emphasis on the shagging of course – who were either too busy studying behind the counter or downing cup after cup of that heady Joe just to survive another round of classes right after their shift.  But the music’s pretty good – a nice mix of old 70’s rock, the best adult contemporary from the 80’s and 90’s with a hint of more modern stuff in the lines of John Mayer and Regina Spektor – and the prices have always been reasonable despite the fact that business is regularly slow.  _Incredibly_ slow.

Zayn takes a long puff of his cigarette, flicking the ashes into some half-ass ashtray that looks like it was made by a five year old in a pottery class while humming along to Niall’s last rant about Dublin or Manchester United selling off Rooney to Chelsea.  Zayn doesn’t care too much to listen but he humors Niall for a few moments, chewing at his bottom lip while rubbing at his chin.  The scruff tickles the tips of his fingers, his black-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose while Niall goes on animatedly with wild, waving hands – something Zayn remembers Louis doing quite a bit – and cheapened smiles.  Zayn beams at him, leaning back in his seat while stretching his arms behind his head, cupping his hands on his neck.  He kicks a foot up on an empty chair, pulling at the thin material of his black Henley, gleaming dark ink from his tattoos visible across his collarbone and down the length of his forearm.

Niall looks a bit silly with a beanie pulled over his fluffy bleached hair rather than the usual snapback – something else Zayn thinks he got from Louis – and a rumpled t-shirt beneath his ash gray hoodie.  Those flickering flame blue eyes are vivid with life, words mumbled as he chews around a biscuit.  He’s dusting his crumbs over a few of Zayn’s books, looking not the least bit apologetic even when Zayn makes a face and flips him off.  Niall simply shrugs and continues with another story – this one about the fit girl that sits in front of his Global Studies class that wears short skirts and knows the answer to every question their professor asks – while rubbing his hand vigorously over his chinos.

“How’s Lou?” Zayn finally asks with a brittle sigh, shutting one of his books.

He knows better than to attempt to study when Niall’s around but, fuck, when isn’t Niall around?

Niall grins openly, a soft slide of blush kissing his cheeks.  He bites down on his lip, ducking his head a little while pulling shyly at his beanie.

Zayn’s not jealous, not completely.  He’s happy for Niall, really.  Well, he’s happy for him _now_.  It took him a week or two to adjust to Louis being almost everywhere they were on campus.  He was never accustom to Niall actually liking someone for more than two minutes and the fact that Louis seems to be just as love bitten as Niall is pretty sickening.  And he’s not angry that he has to spend a little more time in the library rather than his own room because Louis’ always camped out on Niall’s bed, kissing him or arguing with him – which leads to more kissing once they’re done shouting – until Louis’ too knackered to do anything but fall asleep on Niall’s shoulder while Niall falls into a round of game play on his Xbox.

He likes Louis.  He thinks Louis’ sense of humor is brilliant and Louis’ a bit of an ass to everyone except Niall and Zayn which makes Zayn feel better about not really wanting to chat to anyone except them.  And then there’s the way that Louis has this effect on Niall, the way Liam did on Zayn, that makes Niall act like a twelve year old girl with a crush on her older brother’s best mate that gives Zayn plenty of ammo to take a piss at Niall or simply watch fondly as his best mate trips over his own words just to express his adoration for Louis.  He wants to think Louis’ just that amazed by Niall too but he doesn’t ask.  He doesn’t ask Louis much because he knows one or two questions will lead them down a path of other topics and, frankly, Zayn doesn’t want to feel the burn in his stomach when those little chats turn into discussions about Liam.

The same Liam Zayn hasn’t talked to in weeks even though he could if he just tried.

“He’s _Lou_ ,” Niall says almost a little too softly, tiptoeing his fingers over the table.  He pauses when Zayn lifts his brow, shoulders going tense for a moment.  “He’s a little shit.  And sometimes I want to punch him.”

“And sometimes you want to suck him off while I’m trying to take a kip across the room,” Zayn offers, a sideways grin pushing over his mouth.

The blush against Niall’s cheeks thickens, the color of ripe cherries in the summer.  He’s quiet for a beat, Zayn taking another hearty drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nose.

“Fuck off,” Niall finally mumbles, reaching across the table to drag away Zayn’s coffee.  He takes a long sip, hiding a grin and the way his eyes glaze over with giddiness.  He’s not good at disguising it from Zayn though Zayn applauds Niall’s effort.

“I still hate him,” Niall sighs around the lip of the cup.

“Or love him,” Zayn says with a careless shrug.

Niall nearly chokes on the steaming coffee, thumping his chest while glaring at Zayn.  Zayn chews on his thumbnail, lips leaning upward as Niall tries to give him an incredulous look that fails.

“I _don’t_.”

“’s not what you say in your sleep,” Zayn says playfully, nudging Niall’s foot with his own beneath the table.  “Or should I remind you – “

“Do I need to remind _you_ of the things you whisper about Liam while wanking off in the shower?” Niall cuts in quickly, his chin lifted defiantly.

Zayn eyes him for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip.  Niall’s bluffing, has to be because Zayn never wanks off when he thinks Niall’s around.  It’s a mutual rule that Niall seems to have given up on after that second week of rooming together.  Still, he lifts his shoulders a little like he doesn’t give a shit and, honestly, he doesn’t.

He’s not afraid to admit he’s gotten off a time or two – or _eighteen_ – to the idea of going down on Liam again or crawling into Liam’s bed, wherever he may be, to ride Liam’s cock while he sleeps.  His thumb may swipe away thick drops of precome at the thought of Liam blinking awake with his hard prick buried deep inside of Zayn, the soft rattle of a headboard against the wall overriding the sound of Liam’s probably soft gasps, little flicks of his tongue against his teeth like he can’t believe Zayn would do this.  He might tug on his cock a little roughly while imagining Liam’s fingers leaving behind nicely shaped bruises on his hips as he drags Zayn down onto his dick, thrusting up into Zayn until he’s spilling on Liam’s stomach rather than the wall of the shower.

He doesn’t confess any of this to Niall but, fuck, they’re best mates.  Maybe Niall did know a little more than Zayn let on about.

“Not like it’s gonna happen for me,” Zayn mutters between his teeth, the ones still gnawing at his bottom lip as he finishes off his cigarette and contemplates lighting another one.

He does this quite a bit – smoke away his feelings.  It helps, just slightly.  It takes control of his thoughts, corralling them long enough that he doesn’t think about phone calls from home where his mum expresses how proud she is of him while his baba reminds him he’s here to be something bigger than poetry and the arts.  It fizzles out the beaten thoughts of a now dead summer, the crisp smell of sandy beaches and metallic sea water long forgotten.  It eases off his musings about Liam, the ones that cling to him every time that sun tries to shine behind the silver clouds that always seem to hang over Durham.  Just another forgotten dream – soft almond eyes, bitten pink lips, the curve of a nice jaw and hands that played out bright colors over Zayn’s skin – that he can exhale out with a cloud of smoke.

“It could,” Niall reminds him, his words far from harsh and reprimanding.  They’re endearing like Niall wants nothing but happiness for Zayn.

He doesn’t think he’s destined for silly fairy tales like that.

“You just have to – “

Zayn holds up a pointed finger, shaking his head.  “Move on.”

“But, man, it _could_.  Zaynie, if you would just,” Niall sighs, sinking down into his seat when Zayn narrows his eyes at him as some sort of final warning.  Niall balks at the look, lips curling into a pout like he’s a toddler.  It’s annoyingly cute, the way Niall’s mouth folds right along with his arms over his chest but Zayn’s not in the mood.

He never is when the discussion turns to Liam.  It’s just… he can’t.

“We’re talking about Lou, remember?” Zayn says, leaning forward.  He props his chin on his knuckles, fingers itching for another cigarette that he’s too lazy to search for.

Niall nods slowly, a hint of defiance still lingering in his expression.  He knows they’ll do this again – argue about Liam and Zayn’s tendency to hover in his own self-righteous misery – but he’s become rather spectacular at avoiding the topic as much as possible.

“He gets under my skin,” Niall says with a deep exhale.  His eyes drift to the table, his finger dragging over the rim of the coffee cup.  His other fingers drum on the table, catching the rhythm of something playing over the shitty sound system – _I’m learning to live without you now, but I miss you sometimes. The more I know, the less I understand._   He’s looks caged for a breath, his brow scrunching and Zayn rarely sees this side of Niall: _vulnerability_.

“He just gets under it, you know?  Not in a bad way.  Just in a weird way,” Niall adds, looking up through pale lashes.  He gives Zayn a considering look – _All the things I thought I’d figured out, I have to learn again_ – before he sighs.  “It’s hard to describe.”

Zayn grins smugly.  He reaches across the table, tapping lightly over Niall’s knuckles until blue eyes lift again.  There’s something sincere slicking to his skin like the sweat from a raw sun over him and his tongue presses at the back of his teeth with a smile.

“Think it’s called falling in love, mate,” Zayn offers, his words smooth and low.

Niall snorts, his jaw tensing.  He looks as if he’s contemplating it all – _I’ve been trying to get down to the heart of the matter_ – before he’s puffing out another breath.  “You think?”

Zayn nods, teeth sinking into his lip.  He can’t help the way his mouth curves at the corners with a smirk.

Niall smiles back, a strand of disbelief running thick through his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

Zayn laughs loudly, his head tipping back as he drags his hand away.  He lets Niall take another sip of the coffee and, fuck, he loves this little Irish bastard.  Through and through, Niall is the best thing to happen to Durham and Zayn Malik in a long, long time.

“Needs sugar,” Niall whines while nudging the cup back in Zayn’s direction, already finishing a third of it despite his disdain for the taste.

“You mock the beauty of freshly roasted coffee,” Zayn scoffs, scooping up the cup to drown half of it into his throat.  He licks at his lips, the bitter acid tingling his senses.

“That crap has been stewing all day in a pot,” Niall points out, his brow scrunching when Zayn offers him a mock surprised expression.  “You forgot I used to wipe down tables at this shithole.”

Zayn barks out another laugh, finishing the cup before Niall has a chance to settle his own snickering.

“Been chatting with Harry, loads,” Niall says rather candidly like they’re shifting to topics about the weather.

Zayn arches an eyebrow high, leaning forward again.  His chin finds his knuckles, teeth weighing down on his bottom lip while his eyes narrow just a bit.  He thinks now, more than ever, would be an appropriate time for that cigarette.

“Why?”

Niall lifts a shoulder for a shrug, dragging his fingers over the tiny spaces on the table not covered by empty coffee cups and thick text books.

“Linked up with him on Facebook,” Niall says with a mild smile.

Of course, Niall and his social networks.  Zayn believes if there was some form of therapy for things like that, the constant need to update a status or capture a selfie for three-quarters of the world to see, then he’d enroll Niall in a few pricey sessions.  He settles for looking rather amusedly at Niall instead.

“How is he?” Zayn wonders, humoring Niall who’s all bright-eyed and goofy grins.

“Brilliant, of course,” Niall chimes, nodding at Zayn.  “Kid’s thinking about transferring out here next fall term instead of sticking it out in Chelsea.  We’ve been planning next summer’s retreat and he might even come up for holiday once school breaks.”

“And his boyfriend,” Zayn says pointedly with a singsong voice, ignoring Niall’s glare in favor of thumbing through his phone.

“Still going strong, I suppose,” Niall huffs out.

“Just like you and Lou,” Zayn adds with a stiff grin.

“The Tommo is _not_ my boyfriend,” Niall deadpans.

Zayn wants to ask Niall what his definition of _‘that guy who sleeps in your bed almost every night’_ translates to but he bites at the edge of his tongue instead.  He throws Niall a small nod, slouching back in his chair until Niall looks a little less annoyed and Zayn doesn’t have to fear listening to Niall’s daily bullshit reasoning behind why he’s still trying to find himself in the world and why they may or may not include dating men full time.  And he’s a little too knackered to hear Niall explain why Louis _“just isn’t boyfriend material,_ yet _,”_ though he figures it’ll happen sooner or later.

“Convenient fuck buddies?” Zayn offers as a way to placate Niall.

Niall looks as if he’s thinking the idea over, rubbing at his chin like a mad genius before grinning.

“Maybe something a little more, um, intimate,” Niall muses, his cheeks pinking.  His fingertips rattle against the table again before he’s adding, “He still rubs me the wrong way.”

Zayn snorts, shaking his head.  “From the noises you two make, I’d assume he rubs you just the _right_ way.”

Zayn avoids a crumpled up napkin tossed with perfect aim at his head, hiding a grin while looking up through his lashes at Niall.  He fingers a few wayward strands of his quiff, forgotten cigarette burnt out with the heady scent of almond coffee and half-eaten pastries clouding his thoughts for a moment.  He hates how he thinks about those stupid sticky cinnamon treats at that corner bakery in a town he’ll surely never visit again.

Not that he wouldn’t want to.

“So you don’t miss him?” Niall wonders, shifting in his chair like the question alone makes him uncomfortable.

Zayn chews on his bottom lip, lashes sweeping over his high cheekbones and he swallows a sigh.  He contemplates the question like he doesn’t know the answer immediately.  He’s fantastic at avoiding things, putting them off, never really touching them until the time comes and he doesn’t think now is that time.  He blinks at Niall for a moment and knows he doesn’t have to reply.  He could change the subject or deny it but, fuck it, he’s tired of the running.  He’s exhausted from avoiding.

Niall’s his best mate and he’s kind of frustrated with pretending that all of this doesn’t sort of fuck with his head.

“Yeah,” Zayn finally breathes out, the corners of his lips breaking for a small frown.  “I do, man.”

Niall nods, crystalline blue eyes sincere and bright.  There’s a smile sliding over his lips like a collection of stardust.  His fingers tap out a slow melody and it’s incredibly soothing in an unexpected way.

The buzz of Niall’s phone against the table is a little distracting, Niall grinning once his index finger swipes over the screen.  The tip of his tongue is bitten between his teeth when he lifts it, deft fingers typing away and Zayn busies himself with trying to re-read a few lines of the text he was trying to memorize earlier before Niall troubled him with thoughts of silly little smiles, warm brown eyes, calloused fingers that Zayn wanted pushing into his skin.  He nudges at the glasses resting on his nose while worrying his bottom lip, ignoring the little chuckles and fuzzy noises buzzing past Niall’s lips.

When he looks up over the rim of his glasses, fingers rubbing gently at the back of his neck, he stiffens at Niall’s ridiculously bright smile.

“Lou’s coming by,” Niall says a little too calmly, leaning forward against the table with his elbows on it and his chin in his hands.  “Called in a favor.”

Zayn lifts his brow, lips curling.  His teeth nip at a corner of his lip and it’s not that he doesn’t trust that grin on Niall’s pink lips… well, actually, he doesn’t.

“I’m not having a threesome with you two freaks,” Zayn chews out, his thumb dragging over the wrinkled pages of his used text book.  “That’s Harry’s job.”

Niall cackles, his head tipping back a little with it.  “As if you’d be so lucky.”

Zayn shrugs, sliding his book closed again.  He needs more coffee and another cigarette but he refuses to leave the watchful stare Niall’s giving him.  It’s unsettling and Niall looks sort of mental with all of the eyebrow waggling and the flare of a ruddy hue in his cheeks.  He eases back in his chair instead, glaring at Niall.  He thinks he wants to snatch that stupid beanie off of his head or just shake him because, fuck, he’s been sort of mental since this thing with Louis started and he’s not really in the mood to be bothered by their endless kissing, touching, or stupid jokes that lead to arguments and angry sex.

Very loud, annoying, angry sex.

“You two aren’t going to like, I don’t know, eat each other out over a cuppa and a biscuit, are you?” Zayn sighs out, rubbing warm fingers over his ear, grazing over that piercing high in his cartilage.

Niall makes a face immediately, kicking Zayn under the table.  “’m not into that.  Well, ‘m not into _doing_ that.  Lou’s pretty great at – “

Zayn quickly holds up a pointed finger, head shaking.  “ _Don’t_.  Fuck Ni, just don’t.”

Niall grins sloppily at him, biting on his lip to silence words that will probably make Zayn’s stomach turn and the loo at the coffee shop is not the ideal place for him to be on his knees, puking his guts out into the toilets.  He rattles his knuckles on the table instead, sighing.

He expects the smile that folds over Niall’s lips when Louis bursts through the door of the coffee shop, synchronized dramatics and loud noises like Louis always does.  He waves off a passing Jordan and Ben, who are all back slaps and rowdy laughter as they exit while surveying the rest of the shop like he _owns_ the place – Zayn thinks Louis probably assumes every little inch of this University town belongs to him in some way.  Louis makes a sharp noise, upper lip curling like this little coffee shop is too small, too rank, too cheap for him before he’s grinning sharply at Zayn, something soft and buoyant passing over his face when he looks at Niall – _fucking idiots in love_ , Zayn thinks.  He hates how they deny it.

Louis’ dressed in a snug jumper, brown fringe sticking out in bits and pieces from beneath his maroon beanie.  He has a pair of round, posh sunglasses on like the sun’s still dusting the skies with bright light.  He pushes them up, something wickedly dark and wide spreading over his lips like the devil smiling on his next prey.  Those haloing blue eyes are dusty and bright with life, thick scruff lining his mouth and chin with jeans that are, for once, loose and rolled up just above his ankles.  He has a shoulder bag on that’s nicer than the one Zayn slings over his own shoulder daily to carry this heap of books around.  Zayn’s is ratty, worn with the thread fraying and the snap never stays closed but it was a gift from Doniya and Waliyha just before he left for Uni and he refuses to buy a new one – not that he could actually afford to.  He’s certain Louis’ is some name brand one that his parents probably bought him, along with every expensive piece of wardrobe Louis owns and that shiny new car he breezes around town in because he got great grades last term.

Zayn doesn’t expect the boy who follows gradually behind Louis into the coffee shop.  His smile is soft, terribly shy and just the right kind of brilliant tenderness that has Zayn’s breath hitching.  His thumb rubs over a thick bottom lip, the scruff on his face light and a grubby blonde.  There’s a Batman snapback sitting loosely on his head, turned backwards with a cheesy stitching on the side of it in giant letters – _Liam_.  Even under the fizzled gray of a September night, his skin is a soft-spun tan.  He pulls at the thin material of a pullover, teeth nipping casually at his bottom lip.  From here, his eyes look sweet like burnt umber, freckled accents of something bronze and chestnut rounding them out.  His jeans hang off his hips, a little stretch of his arm to cup the nape of his neck lifting his shirt just enough to expose black briefs that look snug and, fuck, Zayn’s _staring_.  He knows it and he’s trying to count to five and steady his breathing.

“This place looks shit and quaint,” Louis announces, ignoring the pointed look he gets from the girl with the mousy brown hair and small eyes behind the counter.  He grins when he eases up to their table, resting a hand on Niall’s shoulder before adding, “I love it.”

“You do?” Niall asks, his voice a little strangled but Zayn thinks it’s from the way he’s blushing hotly rather than the shock.

Louis nods quickly, leaning down to press a wet kiss to Niall’s cheek – incredibly dramatic – before offering Zayn a little wave.  Zayn jerks a nod at him, still casually – _or not_ – trying to peek around Louis to eye Liam as he slowly approaches the table.

“It’s so _you_ ,” Louis beams, pushing Niall’s hands out of his lap to settle there.  Zayn tries not to laugh at the heaving noise that breaks through Niall’s lips while Louis tries to make himself comfortable like he’s not heavy in the least bit – Zayn knows from a rather drunken piggyback ride somewhere during their first week back that Louis is indeed quite heavy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Niall spits out, his brow lowering.

Louis sighs heavily, pushing at Niall’s beanie until he can twirl a few fingers into that soft, bleached out blonde hair.  “Nothing.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” Niall hisses, pinching at Louis’ hip.

“Fucker,” Louis huffs out, smacking Niall’s hand away.  He crisscrosses their fingers, settling Niall’s hand into his own lap before narrowing his eyes.  “Where’s your manners?  I know your mummy taught you better.”

“Bet your mummy taught you how to suck a mean – “

Louis gasps loudly and Zayn’s rolling his eyes immediately.  He definitely wishes to all fuck this thing between them never happened.  Stupid beach town with its fucked out parties and blistering sun.

He catches that faint, sickeningly familiar sound of Liam’s soft laugh and it creases over his senses in the worst way.  It’s the first bite of a wave just after the sun breaks through rocking orangey clouds and he misses it.  He misses every taste that summer left slick against his mouth.

“Don’t be rude,” Louis says with a softened tone, sliding his thumb down Niall’s cheek.  He jerks his head behind them before adding, “Liam’s here.”

“Hey Liam,” Niall says in a quick rush of air that feels almost forgettable, tilting his head up to peck at Louis’ chin.  “You’re still a twat.”

“So you tell me daily you little leprechaun,” Louis sighs, tapping a knuckle on the end of Niall’s nose.  He snorts when Niall backs away with a whine, elbowing him quickly like he hates him.  Fucking idiots.

Louis turns to Zayn quickly, Zayn’s little looks toward Liam wasting away in a casual flick of a smile while leaning back in his chair.  It creaks, old and worn, but it’s comfortable enough that Zayn doesn’t feel awkward beneath Louis’ devious stare.

“Liam’s here,” Louis repeats, a little more poignant this time.  He’s wagging his eyebrows, making very indiscreet motions toward Liam that pushes a sigh past Zayn’s lips, the need to greet Louis with a middle finger rather than a dulled smile pounding loud against Zayn’s head.

Zayn tips his head back a little chewing carefully on his bottom lip before looking past Louis at Liam.  Brown eyes are on him, beating down every little half-assed wall Zayn built the moment Liam left his sight on that wave-washed beach.  There’s a smile tucked behind teeth, shy and harmless.  Liam looks years younger with the slump of his shoulders, the way his foot keeps sliding against the tiled floor.  His cheeks are bitten by a nice pinkish glow with a scrunched brow like he’s thinking about saying something but it refuses to slip past those lips that are deepening with a smile.

“Hey,” Zayn finally says, his voice sliding into a hush.

Liam nods at him, blinking out a grin.  “Hey.”

Niall grins smugly, leaning up into Louis to whisper something and Louis’ sighing dramatically.

“You two shits, I swear,” Louis grumbles.  He kicks at a chair, motioning between it and Liam.  “Li, _sit_.  This is not some high school film with a sappy ending and a big musical number.”

There’s something annoyed that flicks across Liam’s face.  He crosses around Niall and Louis, finding his way into that chair Zayn’s foot rested on earlier.  Zayn doesn’t miss it when Liam punches Louis’ shoulder rather harshly, Louis squeaking and Niall immediately curling his arms around Louis in some form of comfort.  Zayn can see Niall grinning into Louis’s shoulder, nodding at Liam like Louis deserved it.

There’s a bank of silence that rounds the table, Liam sitting stiffly in his chair while Zayn tries to look casual, trying not to give a fuck even though his heart rattles like chimes in his ears.  His fingers twitch, the need for a cigarette and a stronger cup of coffee increasing.  He chews his lip raw, Louis and Niall giggling to each other like love sick pups and completely oblivious to any and everything going on around them.  He wonders how long Niall’s been waiting on this – that one person that captivates him until he’s numb to every little sticky feeling in the world – and it’s sort of relaxing.  He wants nothing but this kind of happiness for Niall, even if it’s with someone like Louis Tomlinson who’s still kind of a dick.

He tries not to shake when a hand slides into his lap, cool air bitten fingers sliding over his knuckles before dragging downward to twine with Zayn’s fingers.  He looks up through his lashes, over the rim of his glasses and Liam’s watching Niall and Louis instead of Zayn this time, a dense grin on his lips like he’s thinking the same thing Zayn is.  Like he wants nothing but the best for his own mate, maybe himself.

A thick grin slips over Zayn’s lips, one that he wishes he could control, and he wants the same for Liam.  With or without him, Zayn wants the same for Liam.

“Come on,” Niall smiles out, nudging at Louis until Louis’ sliding out of his lap, straightening his clothes.  Niall follows, letting Louis help him out of the chair.  “Let’s head back to mine.”

Louis’ lips slide into a frown, his brow knitting together and low on his face.

“Thought we were going to see a film?”

Niall snorts, cupping Louis’ hand in his own.  “No, we’re going to _make_ a film,” Niall says filthily, giving Louis’ hand a sharp tug.  His eyes are smoky and that slick smirk over his lips has Zayn balking, shivering with the thought of what’s probably passing through Niall’s sick mind.

Louis chuckles, a wash of red blossoming over his cheeks before he’s flicking at Niall’s chest.  “Will we be role playing again?”

Niall leans in, cheeks lifting with a smirk.  He’s leering, tittering on the tips of his toes as he whispers – _loudly_ – against the shell of Louis’ ear, “You can be the cop and I’ll be the dirty little Irish bloke you caught speeding.  Still got the ‘cuffs from last time.”

Zayn’s stomach tightens, Liam gasping loudly, and Louis’ fucking _beaming_.  He’s bowled over with a fireworks kind of spark in those blue eyes, shit-eating grin rounding his mouth.  He nods at Niall, adjusting the strap of his bag before he’s looking over his shoulder.

“Zee,” he eases out, the roll of his voice quiet but meaningful.  “Think maybe you can take care of my best mate?  Heard he wouldn’t mind spending some time with a certain Uni bloke he met over the summer.”

Zayn blinks at Louis, eyes shifting to Liam, whose chin is tucked, the rambling glow of blush burning against his cheeks.  Liam’s fingers tighten around his, the soft pad of his thumb sliding over the indentations of Zayn’s knuckles.  Zayn can almost smell him – the weathered out scent of coarse sand and salty ocean water now gone and replaced by something sweet like burnt firewood and sticky marshmallows – and he hates the way his stomach tightens when Liam looks up through soft lashes.

He pushes at his nerves, the tinge of worry biting at his skin until he can’t feel it anymore.  The worry that kicks up in Liam’s eyes like he knows Zayn won’t make a move, like he knows Zayn’s scared shitless about everything, including being around Liam pricks at his senses.  He swallows, harshly, drumming his fingers on his thigh to the sound of the words in his head – _Take all of your wasted honor. Every little past frustration_ – before he smiles quietly.  He kicks at anxiety, rolling his shoulders like he’s building courage.  His mind drifts aimlessly and he doesn’t know why he thinks about Harry – _“He was just waiting on me to finally ask him out.”_ – but it rocks against him roughly until that smile pushes at the corners of his mouth, lifts his cheeks.  It buzzes loud and relentless in his head and, fuck it, _why not_?

Why not give it a try for once?

His fingers curl around Liam’s, his thumb tracing over the back of Liam’s index finger.  He half-turns toward Liam, a settling breath sinking into his lungs.  He pushes his glasses up, ignoring the little looks he can feel from Niall and Louis to watch the way Liam sits a little nervously, gnawing on his lip.  He’s breathtaking like the sun kissing the edge of the ocean – _Take all of your so-called problems; better put ‘em in quotations_ – and Zayn feels the pulse of his heart in the back of his throat.

“’s not really the best first date but,” Zayn swallows on a thought, Liam sitting up a little like anticipation is curling around him, “can I buy you a cuppa?  Will you just, like, have coffee with me?  _Stay_ … for a while.”

Liam snorts lowly, his hand instinctively finding the back of his neck with his chin still tilted downward but the slide of his smile feels like the sea kissing at their toes again.

“It’s a date?” Liam wonders, his voice small and shy.

“It’d better be,” Louis squawks and Niall’s throwing a hand over his mouth immediately, tongue clicking against his teeth disapprovingly.

Zayn rolls his eyes immediately – _dumb fucks_ – before leaning toward Liam.  Bravery tightens its hold on him – _Say what you need to say_ – as his lips slide sideways with a grin.

“It’s a date,” he confirms, shifting their hands beneath the table until their palms are kissing, their fingers settling together like their finding their way back home.

There’s a little cheer behind Niall’s hand, Niall grinning stupidly, and every little bit of sound goes dull when Liam smiles.  Every little piece of worry, fear of nothingness and uncertainty washes away.  It makes room for the promise in Liam’s eyes, the rawness of his grin that sparks over Zayn like tiny little electric currents and he feels drunk on it all.  He feels fucked out and happy and, shit, he doesn’t know why but he feels like the summer sun peeking ominously through the clouds to brush over the glow of the world.  It’s incredibly poetic and pathetic all at once.

“I like tea, not coffee,” Liam says, leaning in with a brush of something sweet over his lips.  “And I’ll stay.  I’ll stay, babe.”

It’s an unexpected rush of something bittersweet and unfocused.  Everything feels fuzzy, desperately hot over his cold skin – _Walking like a one-man army. Fighting with the shadows in your head_.  His eyelashes flutter over his cheeks repeatedly like he can’t believe this.  Like Liam’s going away in a matter of seconds again, leaving him hopeless and worn again.

But the assurance in Liam’s smile tells him otherwise.

Liam’s going to stay.

“C’mon,” Louis says with a lifting giggle, pulling on Niall to lead him towards the door.  “I’m horny and you look fit in that silly hat.”

Niall holds fast for a moment, eyeing Zayn carefully.  There’s something unsaid in his eyes, the corners crinkled like he’s fearful for a moment.  It flutters away, his lips rounding into a grin before he’s turning to Liam.

“He’s my best mate.  Never had one like him,” Niall says, his voice almost a warning.  It’s not harsh, unkind but it’s undeniably serious.  “He thinks about you all the time and I’m not very good at picking him up when he’s broken.”

Liam nods slowly, squaring his shoulders like he’s ready to defend himself.

Niall smirks, reaching out to adjust the snapback still resting carelessly over Liam’s hair.

“Lou says you’re here for good,” Niall mutters, Zayn’s breaths catching on a gasp.  “I know you won’t hurt him, Payner.  Just, um, make him happy.  He _should_ be happy.”

Louis’ smiling over Niall’s shoulder, Zayn inching back in his chair like they’re all in on the secret.  Like they’ve been keeping it to themselves for weeks and, fuck them all, why didn’t anyone say anything to _him_?  There’s a mild, tipped up smile on Liam’s lips and Niall’s nodding at Zayn.  He’s reminding Zayn that this life, perfect or not, is okay and he’s leading Louis out the door without another word.  He’s nodding at Zayn through the door and Zayn feels something comforting, relaxed molding itself around Zayn’s shock and feeble betrayal until he’s okay.  He’s letting Liam calm him with gentle smirks, the soft brush of his thumb over the back of Zayn’s hand and, fuck, he’s okay.

 _He’s okay_.

Zayn finds out how Liam likes his tea – a splash of milk with a small drizzle of honey, no sugar because _“it corrupts the honestly great taste of a nice cuppa”_ – and finds out Liam learned how to swim when he was five and his sister Ruth tossed him into a neighbor’s pool as a joke gone bad.  Liam loves root beer and Coke, hates the taste of tequila, and has always been shit at school.  He still goes for runs every morning, loves playing FIFA online with friends back home, and despises jam on his toast.  He’s a fan of Nolan’s _and_ Burton’s Batman films – they recite lines at each other for at least fifteen minutes with grins and tickled laughs – and watches _the Avengers_ at least once a month.  He loves the summer but there’s something about the winter back home in Wolverhampton that Liam craves more than anything.  He’s never had a boyfriend, a conversation that doesn’t feel as casual as the others but Zayn was curious and Liam was willing to chat about everything, even the first time he gave someone a blowjob – “The poor lad.  I was _horrible_ and, well, I think I’m a little better now.”

Zayn thinks Liam’s probably incredible at it like he is at everything else.

They smile through quiet chats about family and home, Liam’s fingers tickling over his chin to rub gently at his stubble.  Liam learned to surf when he was eleven, ripping through half-crested waves whenever Louis’ family drug him along for family holidays to that small, washed out town.  He’s pretty good, though he hides most of that from Louis because he knows Louis needs to feel superior in every facet of life.  He’s got a scar just under his left knee from wiping out on a tall wave just outside of Melbourne when he was fourteen and Louis’ parents invited him on a holiday in Australia.  His accent is a little thicker after a long laugh and he loves when his mum melts chocolate into his cocoa when he’s sick.  His cheeks pink warm like cherry blossoms whenever Zayn points out all of the little things like the freckles in Liam’s skin, the mole on his cheek, the smooth shape of his birthmark, the way Liam bites at his nails when he’s nervous – which is, well, a _lot_ – and the way the color of his eyes are almost hazelnut.

Liam’s affectionate in ways Zayn thinks he’d hate with anyone else but he doesn’t mind Liam’s hand on his thigh, the way Liam leans into him when he laughs or the feel of Liam’s lips on his cheek when Zayn says something oddly nice and kind.  There’s the way Liam’s face is buried in the crook of Zayn’s neck when Zayn leans in to whisper something in Liam’s ear or the barely there touches Liam runs over his skin while tracing the little cuts and rough patches over Zayn’s knuckles.  He likes the way Liam’s foot runs over the arch of his under the table or the way they keep shifting closer together, flickered smiles and Liam’s thumb running down the base of Zayn’s throat.

“You’re staying?” Zayn finally asks, the words sitting in on his tongue for what feels like hours.

Blush wrecks Liam’s cheeks, the soft curl of a grin folding over his lips before he’s nodding shyly.

“My dad knew I didn’t want to go to school back home.  Had a job working for him right after the summer to save up and Lou was begging me to come out here.  Said he’d be getting his own flat next term and I found a job not too far out teaching kids how to swim at a local rec center,” Liam explains, his grin thickening with every word.  “Got a shitty little place for right now.  Saving up so Lou and I can get a nicer flat but, for now, it’s good enough.”

“And you’re staying,” Zayn repeats like it’s too good to be true.  He’s learned, as a rule, most things are.

“I’m staying,” Liam whispers, taking a small tea of his cooling tea.  There’s still a wave of smoke lifting from the cup and Zayn breathes it in – something minty, herbal.  He wonders if he can taste the honey on the edge of Liam’s lips.

“Do you really think about me?” Liam asks, leaning forward.

Zayn leans with him, a sharp inhale of breath that tastes heady like Liam.

“All the fucking time.”

Liam smirks, something offbeat about it that Zayn loves.

“You didn’t call,” Liam notes, nothing about the glow in his cheeks wavering.

“Wanted to.  I just,” Zayn pauses, eyes shifting shut.  He feels Liam’s forehead pressed to his, his own hand cupping the nape of Liam’s neck this time.  His fingers press into the skin, his thumb sweeping over the short hairs there.  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I didn’t want to ruin it for you.  I didn’t want you as a friend and I hated that you weren’t right _here_.  Right here with me.”

“I didn’t have to be a mate,” Liam tells him, words swooping and cautious.

Zayn laughs lowly, the sound obstructed by the heart that’s choking the air out of his throat.

“I was a jerk.”

“You weren’t.  You wanted something more,” Liam whispers, lips edging and outlining Zayn’s.  “I wanted more too.”

“You did?” Zayn’s voice sounds small, infantile.  He feels pathetic.

“Yeah,” Liam sighs out, dusting his lips over Zayn’s.  The softest press, a tremble to Liam’s mouth that Zayn wants to calm.  He does, pushing forward, holding his lips to Liam’s until Liam’s smooth, unbroken, loose beneath Zayn’s fingertips.

“You want me to stay, right?”

Zayn snickers against Liam’s lips.  He can taste the honey, the sweetness that’s all Liam with that hint of burnt tea and something salty like the ocean.  He can smell the sting of Liam’s cologne, the layering of faded summer beneath it all.  He cups Liam’s cheek, nuzzling their noses before mouthing another wet kiss to Liam’s lips.  He swallows Liam’s breaths – _It’s better to say too much then never say what you need to say again_ – and feels the rush of something beautiful blaze over his skin.

“I never wanted you to go,” Zayn admits, eyes shut with Liam’s lips dance over his.  “I should’ve said it a long time ago.”

There’s a hush falling over them.  Their lips say the words their tongues refuse to release.  Soft kisses, gentle and cooling.  Slow touches that burn and pulse like the beating sun in that faded town.  Casual breaths that ride like a high wave.  Liam’s thumb running over his cheek, Zayn’s fingers sliding over the knot sitting at the bottom of Liam’s neck.  A sweep of a tongue like the stars bursting against a purple sky over the neck of a beach.  Fingers twining beneath the table and muffled moans that echo louder than the crickets in the night.

Liam’s lips stain a promise to Zayn’s heart.  Suddenly, he doesn’t need to breathe in the last moments of summer that wear away like the pages of days he won’t ever revisit.

Liam’s staying.

Zayn breathes in this moment – this enthralling feeling of being so close to Liam.  He breathes Liam in and holds this feeling tight in his chest.

Those warm, summer-soaked days are just a memory but he knows he can relive each breath, the swell of this life with Liam right next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I feel about the very end but what can you do, right? I'm holding my breath hoping people like this as much as I _loved_ writing it. I figured a summer story during the summer was appropriate. I'm just grateful if anyone takes the time to read it.
> 
> As always, I'm on Tumblr: [Jesse](http://jmcats.tumblr.com). Any comments are appreciated because I read each and every one of them (even if I don't comment back).
> 
> This is dedicated to some of my favorite Ziam authors. I won't name them but, trust me, their inspiration is not long forgotten by me and I hope they know that. xx Jesse


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